Nos Sunt Lupi - Exordium
by Mister Cydonia
Summary: And it came to pass that the men and women that opposed Apollyon would fall to her bloodied blade. Seemingly fighting a losing battle, warriors from across the three factions' lands must band together to form a strange alliance to battle this crazed warlord and her legion. (Rewrite of The Wishful Few, SYOC Closed) [Act I]
1. Praefatio

_Praefatio_

* * *

**This is to act as a foreword. You may skip this if you want. It bears no importance to the story.**

It has come to my attention that my previous version of _The Wishful Few _is complete and utter shit. Because of this fact, I've decided to rewrite and revise it. I want the story to be something of note, and I want it to be readable to begin with. Note, I have decided to keep all of the characters that I had previously accepted, and I will not be accepting anymore.

A few notes about _Nos Sunt Lupi_:

**1.** The story of _For Honor: Nos Sunt Lupi_ will be different to that of _The Wishful Few_. Instead of the convoluted, confusing, and inconsistent storyline of _The Wishful Few_, there will be a simpler, easier to follow storyline for _Nos Sunt Lupi_. Put simply, it will be the story of warriors from across the three factions that must fight the Blackstone Legion before it's too late.

**2.**_ Nos Sunt Lupi_ will be separated into three acts: _Act I – Exordium_, _Act II – Victorum_, _Act III – Extremum Spiritum_.

3\. If you have read _The Wishful Few_, then you will probably recognize scenes from that story. I've decided to reuse some scenes from the failed project into this story, though I'm going to be adding onto them. It's not going to be just a copy and paste, don't worry. However, I will be removing entire story arcs from _The Wishful Few_, as I don't think that they'd carry over well.

**4.** I don't plan on adding any new OC's, but I'm not sure if this will change. If it does, then I'll add an interlude or something along those lines to notify you of it.

**5.** Along with these things, _Nos Sunt Lupi_ will, if you haven't guessed, be using some phrases in languages other than English. I want this to feel (somewhat) authentic, so I'm going to be using a translator to translate phrases from English into different languages, such as Latin, Scandinavian, Icelandic, Japanese, and other languages should I encounter them. I will be using Google Translate, so don't get too riled up if the translations are wrong. I try to do some research into the translations to make sure they're not totally out the window, so please try not to be too harsh on me.

**6.** If you haven't guessed, this will be an alternate universe. I will not be following the campaign story of For Honor, though I will try to keep it realistic in terms of the game. Some lore points may not be totally correct, as I haven't been able to study the lore of the game completely.

I plan on releasing a chapter every so often. That is, if I haven't run out of steam to write. In that case, expect the usual few weeks to a month for an update. However, I plan on writing at least ten or so chapters before releasing, so there should be a good bank of chapters. Then again, I wouldn't bet on it.

If anything changes, I'll add an Author's Note or so. After all the characters have been introduced, I will create an interlude to have the list of characters along with their creators and a short synopsis of them. I want to give credit to where it is deserved, and the creators of the characters that I have chosen are definitely deserving of that credit.

Regardless, I hope that you enjoy _For Honor: Nos Sunt Lupi_, as I have been working on it for a little while. Happy reading, and thanks for stopping by.

* * *

_**Mister Cydonia**_

_P.S. – Nos Sunt Lupi means "We Are Wolves" in Latin._

**The world of For Honor and the associated lore belong to Ubisoft. I own none of it.**


	2. Act I - Exordium

_Act I – Exordium_

* * *

"She has to be stopped!" A young Warden yelled across the pit of fire that rested in the middle of this makeshift campsite. Her face, bloodied and bruised, was stern, and her bright blue eyes were locked onto the man who stood with his back against her.

"She's too powerful." He responded, not looking at her. His face was solemn, and his voice seemed defeated. He ran a hand through his black hair, sighing as he did so.

"I agree with the Samurai." Another voice said, sounding broken. "You haven't seen what I have. You haven't been through what she's put me through! There's nothing that can be done."

The Warden growled before putting her head in her hands. _Perhaps it is true. She might be too powerful, but if we don't do anything, many other would face the same fate as us._ She thought. She looked up at the rag-tag group of warriors that stood around the fire.

Six figures, broken and distraught, all seemed to have different thoughts darting around their heads, some more optimistic than others. They were from across the three factions, and they had met through some unfortunate circumstances. Perhaps in a different life they would have been the greatest of allies, but they were starting to break apart from each other in this reality.

One of the figures, which was the Peacekeeper who had spoken up earlier in support of the Samurai, fell to the ground, taking a seat in the muddied ground. Her light brown eyes being read easily, one could easily see the pain behind her eyes. This woman could feel the tears trying to push through, but she held them back with all her might, not wanting to seem weak in front of the others.

A silence settled over the band of warriors, and not one wanted to break it. They all seemed to share this sense of hopelessness. Solemnity filled each of them, and it was showing in many of them. It seemed as though it was true that the end had come.

"I made a promise." A Highlander spoke up, his voice loud and mighty. He grabbed the attention of all those surrounding him. "A promise to my wife. To my children. I don't intend on breaking it."

He rested one of his hands on the hilt of his great claymore and dragged the other among the group of people that looked at him.

"I will fight for my land, for my honor, for my family. I will go against Apollyon, and whether you are fighting beside me or running to safety, I will fight my last fight. And whether I survive or not, I will at least try to bring this coward of a warlord to her knees." The Highlander continued, his voice booming and powerful. "I will leave on the morrow, and I will not be waiting for you."

He turned swiftly, causing the animal skins on his back to swing heavily. As he walked away from the rest of the group towards a small rocky cave in the side of a nearby hill where they had slept the past day, the rest of them looked at each other, no one knowing quite how to respond to him.

Each one of them moved their eyes to the ground, and silence returned to the group for about a minute and a half before it was broken once again. This time, it was by a Shinobi who had been silent throughout the whole night.

"I agree with the Highlander." She said, her hazel eyes inspecting the group of men and women as she spoke. Turning on her heel, the Shinobi followed the Highlander into the cavern. Another figure, the Warden from before, just clenched her fists and went into the makeshift shelter where the other two were, leaving the three more pessimistic bunch outside in the dark night.

"I must return back to my home in Ashfeld." A Centurion said, his voice quiet and calm. "Without me, they shall perish, and I cannot have that."

He looked down at his trusty gladius. It had served him well over the many years of commanding armies and other troops. His father, who was also a Centurion, lived and served for the empire that had been lost to the Great Cataclysm, and it was him who gave the younger Centurion his gladius. The young man sighed as he remembered his father before walking confidently into the cavern.

The remaining two, a hopeless Peacekeeper and a solemn Orochi, looked at each other, their eyes locking. The Orochi's eyes were strange. His right eye was a dark brown, but his left was a milky grey. It served as a reminder against arrogance and egotism. While many would hide it, he wore it like a medallion.

The Peacekeeper hung her head. She knew she had to join the others in this battle, but she didn't want to relive the horrors she had to get through before. Then again, how could she be such a coward as to let her friends and allies die without her? She groaned before standing to her feet. She looked at the Orochi one last time before turning to walk slowly into the cave.

The Orochi was all that remained in the dark night. He sighed to himself. _This is suicide, but I cannot leave my allies._ He thought, clenching his eyes shut, imagining the probable future of their deaths. After a few minutes, he too turned on his heel before walking hesitantly into the cave. They were walking to their deaths, that much was obvious to the Orochi.

In the near future it would become evident as to whether it was a mistake to go along with his allies, but it seemed as though he wholeheartedly believed it to be so. However, he would have to cross that bridge when he got to it. For now, he had to go along with this ignorant hopefulness that seemed to plague the group of warriors. He could only wish that it won't be his head on their enemy's wall.

* * *

_Exordium means "Beginning" or "Introduction" in Latin._

2


	3. Chapter I - The Blackstone Legion

_Chapter I - The Blackstone Legion_

* * *

As the full moon rose over the horizon, rows of armored soldiers marched their way to Ashfeld. Masked in the night's complete darkness, the Blackstone Legion's thunderous marching sounds were the only things that could be heard as they marched away from the burning city of Ran, which was resting on the skirts of the Myre close to the Ashfeld border. Being one of the main suppliers to the Imperial Palace and Koto as a whole, the loss of the massive farming city would greatly impact the Samurai. With this sudden major food outage, the Samurai would be forced to look somewhere else for their supplies.

Apollyon's black steed suddenly stopped a few yards ahead of the Blackstone legionnaires, causing the warlord's second, Holden Cross, to step forward just behind her.

"Is everything all right, my liege?" He inquired, walking to next to her. His armor was thick and sturdy, allowing it to block many weapons from serious damage. His poleaxe served him well throughout the years of his service to the Blackstone Legion, and it was stained with the blood of those who fought against him.

"Do you see that, Cross?" Apollyon asked, answering a question with a question. Her voice was quiet yet powerful. It seemed to control the inner workings of Cross's mind with fear. Fear of what she could do. Extending her arm, the warlord dragged it across the distance, causing her second to examine the distance. "That, my dear Lawbringer, is the future battlefield. The battlefield where we shall separate the wolves from the sheep."

"I see." Cross responded, causing Apollyon to smile under her ghastly, fear-inducing helmet. Her plans were finally beginning to set themselves in place after almost a decade of laying the foundation. Kicking the steed that she sat atop, the horse started its gait once again, leading the Blackstone Legion forward back to home.

Coming up behind the Lawbringer, a young woman—a Peacekeeper—stopped next to Cross. She looked to where the man was looking, observing the landscape. She moved her head to look to her warlord, causing her to cross her arms.

"What do you think that means?" The Peacekeeper, who was called Mercy, inquired, whispering quietly as to avoid any others to eavesdrop on them as she had with the Lawbringer and Apollyon.

"I'm not sure, and I'm not sure that I'll ever know." Cross looked from the horizon to Mercy, who had turned her own attention to him. "However, it must mean something if Apollyon dared to utter it."

Mercy was skeptical of the great warlord's plans. Apollyon said that she wanted to weed out the weak, but the Peacekeeper wasn't entirely sure that it would stop there. But if it wouldn't stop at that, then where would it stop? Regardless, she had her doubts, but she was smart enough to keep them to herself. As for Cross, Mercy wasn't sure where he stood on the topic, but she only hoped that he wasn't a blind follower.

The Blackstone Legion marched relentlessly into the night, leaving a burning silhouette of the city as the only memory of that place. The men and women that had fought for Apollyon were hollow husks of what they used to be. Gone were the emotions that the warlord had believed made humanity weak, and in place of that hole, a deep sense of hate grew. A hate for the sheep that had started to fill the three regions.

* * *

The Blackstone Fortress was one that could pierce even the strongest men and women's wills with fear. Built at the base of Mount Ignis, an active volcano that once sent the world into chaos, it had changed hands many times over its long lifespan. Each time it would shift tenure, its newest overlord would build upon the structure that was already there. Over the years, it had grown greatly from just a stronghold to one of the largest fortresses across the three factions.

By the time that it had fallen into the hands of its most recent possessor, Apollyon, it had become so large that even she hadn't seen its deepest works. Regardless of how large it was, it was not random. Everything had a place in the fortress. Composed of several layers and defensive structures, the Blackstone Fortress was highly defensible, making it an incredibly difficult stronghold to attack.

The Shard, which was the name for all the ramparts and towers that formed the frontal wall, served as a buffer to hold off potential invaders while the owners of the fortress stayed in the extremely defensive innards, being almost impossible to be reached. In that unlikely event, however, there was a network of tunnels and shafts that allowed those inside the Blackstone Fortress to swiftly and silently escape.

Along the upper levels of the Blackstone Fortress, catapults and trebuchets slumbered, keeping watch for any possible attackers so that they could fire freely upon the enemy. Rows of archers stood in designated areas, allowing them to kill any invaders without the fear of being killed. Another defensive structure for the Blackstone Fortress was a large moat filled with molten lava from Mount Ignis. Surrounding the frontal half of the fortress, these moats prevented anything from getting too close without way of the drawbridge.

Within these strong stone walls, Apollyon leaned over a wooden table that was decorated with a map of Ashfeld, the Myre, and Valkenheim. Her eyes peering through the slits in her helmet, she narrowed them at the area of the Myre. With the farming city of Ran burning to the ground, the capital of the Myre, Koto, would be left struggling for food, and because the Samurai were currently at war with the Vikings as they usually were, they would have to resort to attacking either Ashfeld or Valkenheim for resources. Thus, it would lead to a bitter vendetta against the Samurai from either the Vikings or Knights, regardless of which one the Japanese chose to attack.

For now, Apollyon's plan was rolling along smoothly, but she knew that that would change very quickly. To the warlord, the Samurai were as stubborn as they were emotional. They would refuse to go down without a fight, and she had to be sure that she was the victor when that time came. If she wasn't, then all her work would have been wasted.

With a hefty sigh, Apollyon pushed herself from the table to look around the room. It was empty, save for the warlord herself. The windowless, frigid room was dim, for the only source of light were four torches that were hung on the thick stone walls. An archway with no door rested to her left, allowing entrance into one of the many, many hallways that existed within the Blackstone Fortress.

Crossing her arms, Apollyon pressed her eyes together and shook her head. She could feel an ache creeping into her head. She was getting annoyed at the slow pace in which things were unfolding. It wasn't that she was excited for what she planned, for it was quite the opposite actually. She wanted this war to come and go quickly, for she dreaded it in reality. In the contrary to what many believed about her, Apollyon hated war. She hated the gruesome, barbaric methods used. She hated those involved, but she knew that it was something necessary for the evolution of humanity.

Regardless of her beliefs on war, Apollyon was never too proud to see herself as above it. With a reluctant sigh, she would always ride into battle atop her black battle horse. She knew that she wasn't higher than the dirt and mud of the battlefields, so she bloodied her swords and slew enemies of the Blackstone Legion. After the battle, however, the great warlord would always return to the Blackstone Fortress annoyed that this was something that had to be done. Of course, she had to keep these philosophies to herself, for she could not be seen as weak because of them, especially at this point.

* * *

The stronghold was secluded within the depths of Ashfeld. Almost a week's ride to the closest border of Ashfeld, the fortress was kept hidden from the rest of the world. It was hidden within the Iron Slopes to the South of Ashfeld. Originally being a region filled with luscious iron and gold mines, the Iron Slopes was a hotbed of activity, attracting many men and women seeking quick riches. But when the gold and iron mines ran dry, they left, seeking other places to gain wealth.

The stronghold, which was called _Ferrum Coronatus_, stood vacant for many years until a man took control. The man, Vortiger, used the stronghold as a place for his men to retreat to when not involved in some kind of warfare, though that was a rare occasion. The Black Priors—which is what they were called by many, though they never officially took on that name—were an independent order in Ashfeld, not taking to any legion. They stood firmly like that until the Blackstone Legion.

Instead, they belonged to the Order of the Holy Balaur—a God that they believed ruled all men, women, and children. He believed firmly in his God. That was, until his faith was shaken by a one Apollyon. Although he tried to stay steadfast in his faith, he couldn't help but be intrigued and taken by her convictions and beliefs. That day was the day that the Order of the Holy Balaur had fallen, and in its place, the Order of the Black Prior came about.

The Blackstone Legion marched through Ashfeld, conquering any legions or revolutions that attempted to fight back against them. And in due time, they came sweeping through the South, specifically the Iron Slopes. The Black Priors saw this as a threat against them, so they fought back. Meeting in the Valley of Chiron, the Black Priors and the Blackstone Legion faced off. Though they fought a losing fight, the Black Priors fought valiantly until the fighting began to settle, but they would not give up until the end.

The eleven followers of Balaur that remained were surrounded, their backs against one another as they gripped their shields and swords tightly. Their leader, the mighty Vortiger, clutched his longsword and kite shield, his face showing anger and hate.

"My brethren." He shouted to those surrounding him, capturing their attention. "Into the abyss, we shall go, but we shall not die without honor! Tenebris!"

Vortiger ran forward into the first line of soldiers, swinging his sword in a wide arc from low to high. Spinning on his heel as to keep the momentum of the attack, he turned a complete circle, cutting into even more soldiers. Stopping quickly, the man rose his shield and blocked an attack from a Blackstone, returning with a shield bash that knocked the soldier from his feet. He grinned from under the hood, as it had been a long time since he had felt that satisfying feeling of taking another man's worthless life.

Continuing to kill scores upon scores of Blackstone dogs, Vortiger swiping his sword across a wide arc in front of him, killing even more of them. He used his longsword and kite shield as offensive weapons, managing to kill many, many men and women that had thrown themselves at him in hope that they could be the one to put an end to him.

"Vortiger." A voice, raspy and powerful, called out to the warrior. The voice seemed to control Vortiger as he looked back to the person who had called him. There, dressed in what looked like a Lawbringer's set of armor except for it seemed to fit the style of a Warden, she was, her sword resting inside the scabbard that hung from her belt. Her armor was ghastly and fear-inducing, but it didn't ward off the Black Prior.

"Apollyon." He said, finishing off another nameless solider. Turning to her, he frowned. "I've heard stories of your conquests. I only hope that, for your betterment, you didn't come here to do the same."

"You are not one to make requests." She said, not being intimidated by the man. She took a few steps forward, closing the gap between the two until they were only ten feet apart. "Your army falls around you. Why don't you do the same?"

"There is no instance where it ends like that." He responded, his grip tightening around his sword and shield. "If you want this battle to end, then let us end it."

Apollyon grinned behind her helmet, and she pulled her longsword out of its scabbard. Putting one foot forward, she pulled her sword close to her chest, pointing it so that its tip would be looking to the sky. As she entered this defensive stance, Vortiger pointed his own sword directly at his enemy, holding the hilt to the right side of his head. Preparing his shield, he brought it close to his chest, though it showed a sliver of the left side of the front of his body.

Vortiger rose his sword above his head, preparing to bring it down onto his opponent. Seeing that Apollyon was in a prime position to parry him, he stopped himself at the last second and instead pushed his kite shield forward, bashing the thick piece of metal and wood into her, who had staggered back from the hit.

"_Sindon cadit!_" He shouted as his shield met Apollyon. He moved to follow the bash with a quick swipe from the side, bringing his sword around his right and into the warlord. However, the woman jumped back, dodging the sword. Keeping the momentum, she charged forward, pushing her shoulder into him, knocking him onto the ground. He had lost much stamina from the shield bash combined with the missed attack. Taking advantage of the opportunity, she brought the edge of the blade down upon him, slashing his chest.

"_Dampnas!_" Vortiger exclaimed as he kicked her heel, knocking her to the ground. Pushing himself off the muddied field, the kick allowed him enough time to recover, although Apollyon had recovered quickly, not allowing him to take advantage of her position on the ground. Bleeding from a chest wound, he growled at the Blackstone dog. Although it wasn't as bad as it would have been thanks to his chainmail underneath the leather, it was still as painful as it could get. Glaring at his enemy, the Black Prior clutched his chest, wincing in pain.

Vortiger scowled at Apollyon, his eyes filled with a raw hatred. He ran at her, bringing his sword in a wide arc that would have been impossible to dodge. Seeing this, the warlord grabbed her sword by both the hilt and the end of the blade. She brought the broadside of the steel against the sharp side of his own sword, causing a volley of sparks to emanate from the loud noise. She quickly threw him back, sending him stumbling.

Apollyon launched off the ground, her shoulder colliding with the Black Prior's chest. This sent the already injured man to the ground, as he was already losing stamina from his wounds. Recovering from the bash as to not follow Vortiger to the ground, the warlord quickly stabilized herself once again. Taking her sword by the hilt, she pointed the tip of the blade to the man's neck, slightly pushing inward so that tiny blood droplets could be seen escaping.

"Surrender." Apollyon demanded as the Vortiger laid there on the ground. "You've lost the battle. Look around, your trusted servants are dying. End this needless bloodshed."

Vortiger did as she said, looking around the battlefield. Limp and stinking bodies filled the previously peaceful valley. It could be seen that hundreds, if not thousands, of men had died. Though most of them were Apollyon's men, Vortiger suffered the major loss, as he had less soldiers than the Blackstone Legion. To him, every death was a big blow to the Order of the Holy Balaur.

"_Ad inferos vobiscum!_" Vortiger growled in his native language.

"Is that so?" Apollyon sneered. "You certainly have proved your efficiency in battle, Vortiger."

The man's eyes narrowed as he looked up at the Blackstone dog. Anger and hate filled his body, though he couldn't get up now. His men were dead, so he would assume—and perhaps rightfully so—that he was the last Black Prior in the Valley of Chiron. He had to remain on the ground beneath Apollyon, otherwise he'd be killed in an instant.

"I believe you to be a wolf." Apollyon complimented, slightly lifting her blade from his neck so that it was no longer piercing his flesh. "Which is why I'm giving you a choice. Join me and submit the Order of the Holy Balaur to the Blackstone Legion, and I will allow you to live out the rest of your life. Or, you can deny me, and I will have your body paraded throughout the major cities of Ashfeld. In that reality, you will become nothing more than a trophy on my wall. Your choice."

It wasn't much of a choice. To Vortiger, losing one's honor is the most demeaning thing that could happen. Coupled with his prominent name, the fall from grace would be anything but graceful.

"What choice is there? There is no reality where I die with honor. The other option is that I live with the hope that I will become more than another lowly knave. To me, there is a simple answer." Vortiger finally responded after considering his options for a minute. "I will join your legion."

"Good." Apollyon said, surely smirking behind her ghoulish helmet. She returned her sword to her scabbard and reached out a hand to Vortiger, who hesitantly took it. He brushed himself off and took hold of his sword and shield from the ground.

"What now?" Vortiger asked. His eyes, which were still narrowed at the warlord, never left Apollyon. She turned away from the man, still smirking underneath that damned helmet.

The warlord's mind was racing with her plans of conquering those that opposed her. She had already cut off one of the major supplies of Koto. With that gone, they would be scrambling for supplies, and although they wouldn't be completely crippled, the Samurai would still be weakened from a food shortage. Apollyon believed that it may be a good idea to send in two forces.

One force would start their assault from the Plana Mortis and into the region called Foul Oasis. Then, they could march through Masamune Haka into Koto where the Imperial Palace was located. The second force, a smaller one indeed, would march through the Myre's southern regions, starting with Defensor, through Josei and Chojo, and finally into Koto. Koto, the largest city in the Myre, served as the Samurai's base of operations for almost anything they did. And when Koto falls, the Samurai empire, too, fell.

Though the two armies may prove futile in the long-run, it was Apollyon's best chance at assaulting the city Koto. The largest army would subvert the attention as the smaller one would be able to go through and strike at the heart of the Samurai without being noticed before it's too late. Apollyon clenched her fists and jaw before turning back to the Black Prior.

"Koto." She said after almost a minute or two of thinking, resting her hand atop the hilt of her longsword. "The capital city of the Myre. The home of the Imperial Palace and its residents. A church of sinners. A gathering for those who wish to fulfill their fleshly desires."

"What about that damned place?" Vortiger asked, his voice still showing signs of the bitter defeat from the duel.

"I have received a conviction." Apollyon responded, gazing off into the vague direction of the Myre. "The world no longer has room for the sheep that roam the earth. We, the wolves, must now rise against this coming tide of serenity. Our world can no longer be plagued by the complacency that is ruling over the people. Join me, and I promise your order a place of power."

"What do you mean?" Vortiger inquired. "Why should we need them to wage wars upon others? We have been settling into a peace between the three regions."

"Exactly." Apollyon said, turning to face Vortiger. Putting her hand onto his shoulder plate, she scraped it, causing an annoying sound of metal on metal to echo throughout the valley. "Just trust me, Vortiger."

The warlord let go of the man's shoulder and walked away, stepping over the countless bodies that had been lying around. Vortiger, who had been left to wonder what she meant by that, turned to look at her as she walked away. It was too late to change anything about it now. He'd just have to go with the flow per say. He experienced the true fighting power of Apollyon, and he was not wanting to fight her again.

Vortiger looked around the battlefield once again. He could spot about a hundred of his men lying face-down on the floor in a lifeless mess. He pressed his eyes shut, praying to himself. _Father, forgive me, for I have sinned._ He opened his eyes once again before sighing. He walked to where Apollyon had gone, knowing that his life would forever be changed.

* * *

_**Years later…**_

"Desertion, heresy, betrayal, cowardice…" The Black Prior's voice controlled the masses in the port city of Eitrivatnen. Atop a wooden platform in the city square, three men stood, looking over a crowd of people that filled the immediate vicinity. The men and women looked upon the scene with astonishment, not knowing how to respond to the things they watched. Mothers shielded their children's eyes, and men crossed their arms, wondering if they would actually follow through, for it had been years since a man had been executed in these streets.

The Black Prior looked at the faces of the crowds, casting fear into each of them. His face absent of any sympathy for the criminal, he pointed a finger to the face of the man. The man in binds was visually beaten. His face was bloodied and bruised, his blonde hair was stained with mud, and his eyes were purple and swollen. Pain was all that he felt in that moment. The man, a recognizable, handsome warrior that the people had seen before, was Hervis Daubeny.

Daubeny had failed to comply with Blackstone Legion orders when he was told to move against the Samurai. He was in command of the armies that had gone through the Myre's south to infiltrate Koto. To Apollyon's dismay, his cowardice overcame him, and it caused him and a few others to desert their posts, running all the way back into Ashfeld. More specifically, he ran back to Westhold—which, luckily for him, was undergoing yet another power exchange between warlords.

Holden Cross and the Blackstone Legion tracked him down there. After Ademar, Cross's second, defeated a nameless Warden, who was chosen by Daubeny, the coward himself was taken in chains to the largest public city in Ashfeld: Eitrivatnen. It was determined that he was to be publicly executed and made an example of to all the people. Apollyon herself gave the orders to execute him, as he had caused an embarrassment for the otherwise fear-inducing legion.

After Daubeny abandoned his station, the southern army attacked Koto, and without capable leadership, they lost a hundred to one. The Samurai retaliated, killing the entirety of the southern army, save for Daubeny and his few deserters, and parts of the northern army. The Samurai, however, already had tensions that were high with the Vikings, and they could not afford two wars at once. Luckily, they told the Blackstone Legion to pay them tenfold for the price of the few skirmishes that took place, and the legion took that deal with graciousness, though it would certainly cause a blow to their pride.

Now, here Daubeny was, his arms in chains and his head bruised, beaten, and bloodied. His life flashed before his eyes as two Blackstone legionnaires accompanied him atop this platform. A Lawbringer and Black Prior—who were Holden Cross and Vortiger respectively—stood there, looking down upon the crowd. Vortiger's words reverberated throughout the echoey chamber that was the Eitrivatnen city square.

"It is time for Sir Hervis Daubeny to face his penitence." The Black Prior shouted, still pointing at the shamed Warden. He turned to look at the chained-up, gagged man, who had been trying to free himself from his bondage. "Hervis Daubeny, former Blackstone Captain and Warden, you have been sentenced to death, for it has been written by Apollyon herself. You face this penalty for your crimes against your legion."

Turning back to the crowd, Vortiger continued: "Let this man be an example to all those who dare to oppose the Blackstone Legion. There will be no mercy, and there will be no honor in this death. Surely, he will die namelessly and shamefully."

Vortiger kicked Daubeny's ankle in, causing him to fall forward. The Black Prior grabbed the deserter's brown hair, pulling it up before slamming it into a piece of tree trunk that had been hauled here for this execution. Blood began to pool at the base of the trunk as Daubeny struggled against the Blackstone's hand which held the Warden's head in place. Vortiger pushed the man's face into the wood, rubbing it against the coarse surface before letting go.

As Vortiger stepped aside, an armored Holden Cross strode forward, holding his beautifully crafted poleaxe. The pole was black and gold going up it in a spiraled fashion, and the axe was made of the richest black steel with a gold covered blade. The spike, however, was built to mimic the likeness of a dragon. The dragon was completely gold, save for two green jewels that made its eyes. It was a magnificent work of art, and it was a sturdy weapon of death.

"_Non potes effugere legem!_" Cross exclaimed as he took his poleaxe by the handle and lifted it above his head. Blink, and you might have missed it. He rose his poleaxe and brought it crashing down, its axe splitting the air as it cut downwards. The metallic blade split Daubeny's skin smoothly open. The weapon cut cleanly through the man's neck and straight into the wooden planks of the platform, sending the Warden's head toppling off and rolling onto the forefront of the raised area. The crowd gasped and screamed, many of them turning their heads away.

Vortiger walked over and picked up the disembodied head, holding it up the crowd. "This! This is what will happen to you if you refuse to submit to the Blackstone Legion! Let us hope that it will not come to this. Now, go and let this image burn itself into your mind. Think about this moment, for it could be you!"

He dropped the head back onto the ground before putting his boot on it, using it as a kind stepping stone. Pushing all his weight onto it, Vortiger cracked the head open, sending a volley of blood onto the crowd and himself. Little pieces of gelatinous blood and brain membrane stuck to his boot as he flattened the head. The crowd began to disperse, running from the grotesque scene.

Motioning to some men to clean up the bloodied mess, Vortiger turned to Holden Cross as the Lawbringer tore his poleaxe from the wooden floor. The latter of them turned to walk down the steps that led up to the platform, walking towards a small open area.

"We have found and killed the traitor." He said, crossing his arms as he followed. "Now what does Apollyon ask of us?"

"She has requested that I join her in a conquest against the Vikings in the North." Cross responded as he ran his forearm plate over the blade, sharpening it whilst also taking off any loose blood droplets. "I have been ordered to assault Svengård through Gränsgård. She has said nothing of you."

"Ah, well I wish you God's bidding on that assault." Vortiger replied. "I shall head back to the Ferrum Coronatus to resume my studies into the religious texts of old. It has been long since I have done so."

"All right." Cross said, turning away from the Black Prior. He walked towards a steed that had been prepared for him. The steed was fitted with armor and a pack that held the essentials for a short trip.

"Take care, _amicus meus_." Vortiger spoke, receiving a nod from the Lawbringer as a farewell. The horse kicked up dirt and sped off into the horizon, leaving the Black Prior to his lonesome. He looked to the limp body of Hervis Daubeny, which was still in its slumped position over a medium-sized rock. It was such a shame that he had to be killed, for he was one of the best soldiers that the Blackstone Legion had seen. Then again, such is life that it is followed by death, especially for those who try to hide from it.

Standing in the now empty city square of Eitrivatnen, Vortiger looked around. Vacant street stalls lined the roads closest to the buildings, though they were still fully stalked of assortments of fruits, vegetables, meat, and other food items. Dirty cobblestone roads twisted, originating from the relatively clean stone that paved the square. Tall buildings of wood and stone created an impending feeling that only a few cities in Ashfeld could create. A feeling of absence seemed to fill the streets. A cloudy sky was turning grey, and the branches of the few trees in the town square were leafless, as winter was approaching quickly.

Vortiger sighed. It had been years since he had first committed his life to the Blackstone Legion. At first, he was hesitant to join the legion, but he soon gave in completely. It was a remarkable experience, though a troubling one, as he still questioned that choice years down the line. Yet, he continued to follow in the path of the Apollyon. Although Vortiger wasn't a part of the legion for nearly as long as some others, Holden Cross included, he was rising through the ranks quickly. In only half a decade, Vortiger had become one of Apollyon's lieutenants—those in charge of leading and directing her armies. It was certainly a notable thing.

The brutal scene that had happened here just moments ago were burned within the citizen's minds. The Black Prior couldn't help but think that perhaps things had gone too far. Then again, Apollyon had demanded it to be done. However, he had his reservations about her ways, even though he followed them. He had been told to do many things, and he had done them, even if he didn't want to. He did them because he recognized the power and strength that his warlord held, and he did not want to face the same fate as the former Sir Daubeny.


	4. Chapter II - The Harsh Reality

_Chapter II - The Harsh Reality_

* * *

Where did it all go wrong? Here she was in a freezing dungeon in the dead of winter. The young Peacekeeper was filled with confusion and doubt, her mind screaming and shouting in anger. She was chained and gagged to the wall in a large fortress, its location unbeknownst to her. She was bleeding and bruised from the beatings that she received from her captors. Her captors tried to get information about her allies' whereabouts, but the young woman refused to answer to their threats, even though it meant pain to her.

The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from two torches that were hanging from the wall to both of her sides. The cobblestone that built up the walls began to allow different mosses and vines to seep through the cracks, making it appear as though nature began to take back the place. A table sat in the center of the room. It was dirtied with blood, and bits of skin and bone could be seen upon closer inspection. Chains and ropes were scattered across the creaky wooden floorboards. A knife hung from the wall opposite the woman, blood staining its steel blade.

The woman, who was rather petite and young, groaned in pain. She had a small nose and angled eyebrows. Her deep eyes were a light brown, and they were easily read by almost anyone. Her hair was messy, and its burgundy color was mixed with the crimson red of blood. She was small and thin, fitting for her career. The woman's wardrobe was that of leather and cloth, the chainmail underneath being torn from her.

The woman opened her eyes with a great deal of agony. Taking in a burst of putrid air as soon as she awoke, her nose scrunched up in distaste. Coughing up blood, she received a sharp burst of pain in her side, causing her to wince at the feeling. With discomfort, she breathed out of her mouth in the cold room, her breath turning into a white cloud. Shivers ran up and down her spine, causing her entire body to shake in the chilliness.

She looked around the room, noting the amount of blood, feces, and bone segments. There was an entrance in the wall that sat adjacent to her. It looked like it was made completely of a thick, heavy wood, save for small sheets of metal that lined the top and bottom of the door. The room was windowless and, supposedly, it had no source of fresh air. The young woman gave herself a week before she would pass out and die if her captors did not allow her to get fresh air.

Looking back, the woman probably should have expected this to be where she would end up. Yet, she was young, dumb, and ignorant. She was a submissive girl that just wanted to make things better for everyone, and in this world that she lived, that was a dumb dream to have, for it usually ended in somebody's blood being spilt. And, it seemed, that it would be her blood this time.

* * *

_**Many, Many Years Before…**_

Dahlia Thorn was young and ignorant at the time, and why wouldn't she want to be? She lived a life that many envied. She was rich, beautiful, and educated. She learned to read and write from an early age, developing those skills more than the average person in Ashfeld. Her entire life was easygoing and simple, for she had everything given to her on a silver platter. Dahlia had become quite spoiled from this fact, though she rarely took advantage of this.

Dahlia was raised by her mother from an early age, for her father was off fighting against the Samurai in the Myre. She was brought up in a beautiful manor in the depths of Ashfeld, safe from the barbaric Vikings and violent Samurai. She had everything and anything she wanted with the snap of a finger. It seemed as though life was perfect for the young woman, though everything changed that one fateful day when Dahlia realized the harsh reality of the world.

Dahlia's mother was struck with a horrible illness—one so severe that there was little expectancy for her to make it through. Like many daughters, Dahlia stayed by her mother's side throughout this difficult period in her life. She wept in secret, for she knew that her mother would not live to see the light of day one day. However, she kept up a strong face, hoping to keep the sick woman's spirits up.

On one bright summer day, the sun was shining greatly down onto the manor of wood and stone, piercing through the glass windows of the second floor. The mother, lying in her bed that she had been confined to for the past few months, called Dahlia to her, hoping to speak to her one last time. She knew her time was up, so she just wanted to say goodbye to that beloved daughter of hers.

"Yes, mother?" Dahlia inquired as she entered the room, her feet trembling as she did so. The room was rather plain for a manor house. The mother's bed and a small table was all that decorated the room. Atop the table, a quill, a piece of paper, and a candle were all there was. Looking to her mother, Dahlia slowly made her way to her mother's side, crouching beside the bed.

"My days are numbered." The mother said, her voice quivering and almost lost. "I know that much. I also know that my days were not wasted."

Dahlia's spirit was crushed with those words. Visible tears streaming down her pale face, she was crushed, and perhaps rightfully so. After all, the loss of a loved one would always be hard upon someone, especially if they were only in their teens. Then again, this event was a common occurrence throughout the harsh regions of Ashfeld.

"You, my dear Dahlia, are the light of my life." The woman said, her voice losing strength the more she spoke. "Without you, I don't even think I could have made it this far, but all good things must come to an end. And you were the greatest thing I could have ever wished for."

Dahlia's mother reached out her hand, placing it on the young woman's cheek. With a weak smile, the woman could feel a tear fall from her eye. Dahlia closed her eyes and looked away from her mother, tears still pushing through her eyelids. She couldn't dare to see someone so close to her in such a terrible state. With a great deal of effort, Dahlia quivered and opened back her eyes when she felt the cold hand fall away from her face.

Looking back at her mother, Dahlia let out a quivering scream. The mother's eyes were closed, and her body went limp. She had finally succumbed to her illness after about a month of fighting it. Dahlia must have wept for hours on that fateful day by her mother's bedside. That was the day that she realized that the world wasn't as perfect or great as she had once perceived. She had stayed there by her mother's side for the rest of that damned day, for it was painful to even get up and walk away from that somber scene.

Morning soon came as the sun rose in the horizon, causing light to shine through the glass window and onto the sleeping form of Dahlia. Hesitantly opening her eyes, she was greeted by an empty bed. The house staff must have come and taken her mother's dead body away for burial. Dahlia stayed there for a few minutes before finally pushing herself to her feet.

Dahlia looked around the slumbering. Nothing had changed. However, it seemed more solemn than it had just hours ago. She knew that everything would change in an instant. She wasn't scared of change, but she was scared of changing. She wanted to be the same old Dahlia Thorn as before, yet she wasn't sure if she could be. Regardless, things would be different from now on, and Dahlia would have to adapt to the evolving circumstances.

Sighing, Dahlia staggered to the doorway, looking back at the empty room one last time before leaving and shutting the wooden door behind her. In the hallway, she could still feel her eyes welling up as she walked slowly down the corridor. She seemed to walk in complete silence, save for her feet tapping against the hardwood.

The walls were built of wood, though they were painted over with a deep green color. Paintings of important figures, warlords, and past family members were hung on these walls, and it seemed like there was one every five to ten feet or so, each one depicting a different person. Among these pictures, there was one of her father. He was an honest, respectable man. He had a comforting aura around him that seemed to draw many to him.

In this portrait, Dahlia's father wore a Conqueror's set of armor, even though he wasn't wearing his helmet, nor did he have his flail and shield. His brown eyes stared down at his daughter, and his stern face looked down upon her, making her feel as if she had done something wrong. A full moustache that had strands of grey that offset the dark brown was plastered across his face, making his bald head seem even balder.

_How am I going to tell him?_ Dahlia thought, his possible reaction making her even more somber. She tore her eyes away from her father, trying to keep her morale intact, though it was crumbling more and more the longer she was awake.

Making her way to the entrance hall of the manor, Dahlia was greeted by a relatively large room. The hallway's green walls gave way to raw wooden planks. The front door was situated directly opposite her, and two columns stood in the center of the room, keeping the area from caving in. A table sat next to the door, and a few unread paper messages sat atop of that.

Walking over to the table slowly, Dahlia took one of the slips of paper:

_To Lady Thorn,_

_We regret to inform you that your husband, Sir Thorn, has come under serious illness. Under the command of Sir Daubeny at the time, he was attacked and poisoned by a Samurai._

_We have allowed him to return to Ashfeld so that he may be taken care of by you._

_Sincerely, Holden Cross of the Blackstone Legion_

Although it already hung low, Dahlia's heart dropped even more. How could two consecutive days get worse and worse as time passed? Then again, it seemed as though these letters had been sitting for a few days, so for all Dahlia knew, her father could arrive the next day, though it was unlikely, for the travel the Myre from the manor was at least a five days trek.

Regardless of the time it would take for him to return, it only crushed Dahlia's already crippled spirits. She collapsed to her knees and cried out in anguish. Why did it have to be her? Her life had been perfect up until these past few days. Without a care in the world, she lived like a queen. Now, she felt like nothing more than a slave trapped in a cycle of hurt.

* * *

_**Years Later…**_

That was years ago. In fact, it was so long ago that Dahlia had almost blocked out those horrible memories from her mind. Yet, they always found a way to seep back into mind. As she stood inside the ruins of the Cathedral—a grand holy place built by some of the earliest Knights that settled in Ashfeld—she remembered the significance of the structure. One might assume that such a religious and historical monument in Ashfeld would be safe from the war that raged throughout the rest of the region. However, this was not the case.

Large stone pillars held up a massive arched roof as two balconies stood along the two sides, though they were hardly usable anymore with their broken stones and collapsed staircases. At the end of the room, light shone through large windows without any form of glass onto a magnificent golden statue that sat beneath an azure domed roof. Banners hung along each of the pillars, each one showing a different symbol. These symbols—along with the statue centerpiece—showed how truly old this place was.

Built before the founding of the different legions when Ashfeld was first divided up between Lords and Ladies, this cathedral pointed to lost rituals and a divine spirituality that was lost in time. Large stones and debris cluttered the floor as bones and dried blood could be seen as a testament to the battlefield that it once was during the first few years of the Great Cataclysm.

Sandwiched between a hillside and a cliff, the Cathedral was beautifully designed against the picturesque backdrop. The location wasn't only chosen for its beauty, for it also served as a very defensible position, though that didn't do much to scare away invaders. Once attacked, the Knights who built this structure eventually gave up on the project, leaving it to rot away in solitude.

Behind the cathedral itself, there sat a cemetery where the most prestigious Lords and Ladies of old were buried. They sat in an array without any kind of planning, sitting as a sporadic mess. In the middle of the cemetery, there was a large, leafless tree. Scattered around the area, geysers rested, occasionally spouting out their water. Around the outside of the graveyard, there were a few larger tombs where the richest Lords or Ladies were kept, their bodies probably being fully decayed by now.

Dahlia looked around the place as she walked through a small archway that led to a balcony that overlooked the cliffside, her eyes taking in the beautiful scenery. Vines and nature began to take back the Cathedral, for it had become overgrown. The solid stone beneath her feet felt as though they would break away at any moment, so she was extremely cautious when walking throughout the structure.

Dahlia walked to the small wall that prevented people from walking to their death, leaning on the cold stone. She had memories of this place. Dahlia remembered that her father would bring her up here when he wasn't in combat, though that wasn't very often. She had good memories of her old man, and it made her miss him. It wasn't that he was dead, but he changed. Ever since he returned to the manor poisoned and on the death bed, his attitude changed for the worse.

He wasn't the only one that changed that day. On the day that he came back, Dahlia truly learned the horrors of what lengths men and women would go to do things against each other. However, when she learned of his horrible injury on the day that he returned, she felt kind of saved. It allowed her to take her mind off of her mother—which she couldn't save—and she put her mind on her father, who she could save. She put all her time and energy into learning the medicinal needs of her father so that she could save him.

After she had managed to save her father, Dahlia began to study the medicinal arts. She set her mind on saving men and women, but she also vowed to keep peace between the Knights of Ashfeld and the Samurai of the Myre. At this time, she refused to kill anyone unless it must be done. Dahlia didn't have the willpower to end another person's life, so she refused to. Instead, she opted to save those who could be saved.

Dahlia soon learned, however, that she there were crucial herbs and other requirements for her medicine, and some only grew in the Myre. And in order to get the things that she needed, she learned to become quiet and stealthy to the Samurai that skulked the swamps, becoming almost invisible to her enemies. She soon learned that she couldn't do this alone. Dahlia needed someone who could provide her with a place and enough patients to continue her medicinal studies.

That was when Dahlia met a man who had been called Holden Cross. She remembered him remarkably well. He was relatively friendly and easy to talk to compared to many others she had met along the way, including her own father. In some ways, she viewed the old Lawbringer as her father of sorts. He mentored and guided her throughout her time in the Blackstone Legion. Cross taught Dahlia the reasons of the Blackstone Legion, and she wholeheartedly believed that they were good, for she trusted him.

Dahlia remembered that day they had met in the Myre.

* * *

She had been collecting herbs for her medicinal brews when she saw a camp. It was fairly large, housing about six or seven large tents with three or four smaller ones. A few campfires dotted the grounds, shining light onto the immediate area around them. Because it was the dead of night, there were only a few Knights that had taken up guard against the Samurai that surely lurked around the swampy marshes. All of this sat within a relatively large clearing of dirt and stone.

Looking among the men, there was one that was vaguely recognizable. His hair was buzzed and not completely shaved. He wore thick, sturdy armor that gave him the look of a Lawbringer, especially since a poleaxe stood stuck in the ground next to him. His eyes were a deep brown, though they looked intense and serious. His face was stern and wore testaments to his experience in the form of wrinkles and scars. As he sat there, he mindlessly toyed with a large stein, taking a swig every so often.

Dahlia took her eyes off the man, gazing around the camp when something struck out to her. Stuck in the ground near the middle of the camp, there sat a large pole. The shaft rose to about ten feet high, much taller that anything around, except the trees. At the top of this post, a banner cascaded. On this banner, there was an orange symbol that was a skull and Knight's helm being separated by a sword that split down the center of the cloth. All of this sewn onto the backdrop of black cloth that pointed to a pyramid at the top. This symbol was one that everyone across the lands knew, Dahlia included. It was the symbol of the Blackstone Legion.

Dahlia didn't know much about the Blackstone Legion, save for the fact that they were the second largest legion in Ashfeld, as the Iron Legion stood slightly larger. What were the Blackstone Legion doing in the Myre? As Dahlia pushed herself away from the roots that she hid behind, she heard a voice call out to her.

"Leaving so soon?" The voice emanated from the Lawbringer who sat beside the campfire. He looked straight into Dahlia's eyes, a smile creeping onto his face. "You've only just arrived. Come, join me."

Cautiously, Dahlia emerged from the thick brush, her hand resting on her knife, although she was hesitant to use it. She entered the clearing, her eyes stuck on the man, though she made sure that she wasn't going to be surrounded. She walked slowly to the fire, her eyes glued on the man.

"How did you know I was there?" Genuine curiosity emerging from her lips.

"You tend to learn and see a lot as you grow." The man said, setting down the stein onto the ground beside him. He leaned forward over his two legs, resting his elbows on his knees. "Now, what are you doing skulking around in the Myre?"

"I've just been collecting herbs for my medicine." Dahlia said hesitantly, stopping on the other side of the fire. She took a long look at the man, memorizing his features in case something should happen. "What about you? I recognize the Blackstone Legion's banner. What is there business in the Myre?"

"Oh, just some business that we have to take care of, nothing too important." The man admitted. "Although I fear that it may get to that point."

"What do you mean?" Dahlia inquired, raising her left eyebrow. She crossed her arms, waiting for a response.

"Oh, you know these Samurai." He said, not yet rising from his seat on the tree stump. "They're a very paranoid set of people."

"I suppose." She agreed, keeping her arms crossed.

"I'm Cross. Holden Cross." The man spoke, moving his head from Dahlia and to his empty hands. "You?"

"Dahlia." She responded, keeping it to as little information as possible, for she was still skeptical of this 'Cross.'

"Ah, an imaginative name." Cross said, pushing himself up from the stump and rising to his full height. He stood there, towering above Dahlia from across the flames. The young woman took a step back, releasing her arms to fall to her sides with one of her hands resting on a dagger that hung from her belt loosely.

"Do you mind if I ask you a question?" Cross requested politely, bending down to retrieve his stein from the cold ground, the drink now lukewarm.

"Go ahead." Dahlia allowed, weary of what he was going to ask.

"Why do you travel within the Myre for these herbs?" He asked, pouring the rest of the drink onto the ground.

"I need it for medicine that I use back in Ashfeld." Dahlia responded after a few seconds of debating whether or not she should tell the man. "I help any that should come to me for it."

"A very honorable cause." Cross complimented. "It's dangerous in the Myre with these Samurai running around."

"I've learned to hide from them." Dahlia defended. "They're no problem for me."

"Ah, cocky, are we?" Cross joked, though his voice made it seem less of a jest than was intended. "How long have you been doing this?"

"About a year or so." Dahlia responded, crossing her arms once again. She took his jest literally, making her a little mad, though not that much. In this situation, she was hesitant to joke around with someone she didn't know, even though she had a sense of humor.

"Why do you go at this alone?" The Lawbringer asked, a stern look replacing his more comedic one. "In fact, why don't you just get the materials you need from the many markets within Ashfeld."

"They tend to charge exorbitant prices of which I cannot afford." She admitted, her mind wandering to her younger years when she had no cares in the world. Dahlia certainly grew up spoiled, and there were no basic hardships that many others had faced. However, that all changed when her father returned at death's door. As the father became unable to provide for the family anymore, their wealth soon depreciated, and they lost almost all their wealth.

Although Dahlia was able to save her father's life, he died shortly thereafter, only a year after he returned. In the times leading up to his death, her father began to go slightly insane. He became combative and abusive to Dahlia, striking her multiple time. That was when she had enough, and she abandoned him to die in his own filth. Regardless, things were different now, especially when compared to her younger years.

"Ah, it is such a shame." The man said, snapping the young woman from her thoughts. Cross's eyes locked with Dahlia's. "Come, sit."

He motioned for her to sit across from him, the fire still flickering between the two figures. Dahlia hesitantly sat on the log, her eyes moving from the man to the rough surface. As she took her seat, she looked around the camp, making sure that there was no one coming up behind her.

"You know, Lady Dahlia, I know what you want." The Lawbringer announced, causing the woman to look back up at his standing figure. He turned his head to the right away from Dahlia and into the dark jungle that surrounded them. "You have a simple purpose in this world. Your purpose it to simply help people."

Dahlia watched him as he walked around the fire, coming closer to her. She flinched for her sword, resting her hand on the hilt. However, he walked passed her position, leaving his back to her.

"I can help you do that." Cross said, gazing off into the Myre's swamps. "I can finance your little vision, and I will help you see it through."

Cross turned to look at Dahlia. She stood from the log, coming to below his chin. He towered above her, intimidating her slightly with his size. Even though they were feet apart, she felt like she was too close to him. Although she was trained and relatively good with the weapons she had, there was no way in Hell that she could fight and win against a Blackstone Lawbringer, especially of his size.

"I can train you to fight." Cross promised, looking down at the woman. "I can promise to fulfill your desires, and I can promise that you can live without worry."

"What's the catch?" Dahlia asked. There had to be some kind of prerequisite, as all of this sounded a little too good to be true.

"Join us." The man said, taking a step forward. "Join the Blackstone Legion, and everything you wish will become reality."

Dahlia thought of this decision for a few minutes. Saying 'yes' to this would change her life forever. Maybe for the better, maybe for the worse. She looked at the Lawbringer. Could she truly trust this man? She had only just met him. Regardless, she had to make some kind of decision.

The man's eyes narrowed on Dahlia as he waited for a response. Crossing his arms, he shifted his feet, not taking his eyes of the woman. He breathed in heavily and breathed out, alerting Dahlia to his growing impatience.

"I can't." Dahlia finally responded, feeling pressure to hurry her decision up. "Not… not right now at least."

"Oh?" Cross responded, taking a small step forward. In response, Dahlia instinctively took her own step back, wary of what the Lawbringer could do. "Why not?"

"Well…" Dahlia started, her mind quickly being filled with panic and pressure. If there had to be a single weakness chosen for the young woman, it was that she was easily panicked. Even since her younger years, she would always be easy to confuse, and she would always feel a great deal of pressure on her back, even if there wasn't any.

"I'd think of my next words carefully if I were you." Cross interjected, his previous persona of a friendly Knight being replaced by a grizzled veteran.

Dahlia couldn't determine whether or not this was a threat. Regardless, she knew that she needed to deny it, but she felt as though she couldn't. However, she wasn't mindlessly giving into demands. She knew that she couldn't face the Lawbringer, so she had only two choices: Join him or—presumably—die.

"You know?" Dahlia started, her hazel eyes unlocking themselves from his dark brown ones. "I've rethought it, and I'm sure that I can see what you can do for me."

Dahlia's voice began to become fainter and fainter as she lost confidence in her words.

"Good." Cross said, smirking to himself. "Come. We have much work to get to."

* * *

(Re)Introducing **Dahlia Thorn**, created by _Pristine Dahlia_.


	5. Chapter III, Part I - The Evocations

_Chapter III, Part I – The Evocations_

* * *

"Run!" The man's voice was not easy to be heard amongst the intense scene that was unfolding before the young girl. Vikings ran forth with a bloodthirsty need, weapons gripped tightly in one hand and torches in the other. The man, an old farmer that had no weapons but a pitchfork, ran into battle, knowing that he would die. He did so because of his sweet Avice—his daughter that was not even nine years old. He needed to provide a distraction so that his wife and child could get away from the barbaric Vikings and to safety.

Many emotions filled the man. His furrowed eyebrows expressed concern, yet he was happy at the same time. He knew that he could easily distract the Vikings for long enough for his family to escape. Then again, he would never be able to make sure, causing sadness to almost overwhelm him, but not enough to make him stop, even though he wanted to.

Armed with nothing but a pitchfork, he swung the tool, causing it to collide with a Viking that had been occupied with a basket of wheat. Blood spurted from the open wound as the villager allowed the pitchfork to fall to the ground with the attacker. The man spun on his heel to look at the rest of the city. Fire and horrible screams filled the area. He was fighting a losing battle, but he had to keep the hope. Not for himself, but for those that depended on him.

Suddenly, the man heard a loud snort. He looked to his right, his eyes narrowing on a Raider. The Raider, armed with her mighty Dane Axe, stood there, glaring at the man. She dug her feet into the wet dirt and got closer to the ground, ready to pounce onto her enemy. The man, armed with nothing but his will to fight, breathed out and positioned himself to receive the oncoming attack.

The man knew he'd lose this fight, but he had to take it. The Raider pounced from the ground, knocking the man with the end of the pole. He stumbled back as the Viking grabbed the axe with both hands, swinging it around with a great velocity. Everything became disoriented as he tried to regain control of his now hurting head.

"**ÉG RÍF ÞIG Í BITA!**" She shouted at the sharpened steel connected with the unarmored man, lodging itself into his stomach. Quickly removing the axe from the wounded man, she walked over to him. She grabbed the man's head and swiftly pulled up, quickly putting an end to the farmer's life. She grinned to herself as she retrieved her axe and ran off to find another victim.

As this happened, a lone girl of about eight or nine years old cried, her tears streaming down her face. This girl, an Avice Esclair, was the daughter of the man, and even though she was young, she realized that this would be the last time she would be with him alive. She stood there, her face a mixture between shock and sadness. Screaming, the little girl ran over to her father's limp body.

Avice fell to her father's side, clutching it strongly. He had been there for her for her entire life, and now, he was gone, fallen in the blink of an eye. She laid there in the midst of the Viking raid, sobbing and balling her eyes out. Sniffling and her eyes still filled with tears, she looked up, wiping those bright blue eyes that seemed a little dimmer than usual.

Avice looked around at the scene as the violence was gradually dissipating. The Vikings that were there paid no attention to the little girl, as they could not care less about her. They began packing their spoils of the raid: gold, food, men, and women. She could hear their ships set course back to Valkenheim. Those damned Vikings would return back to their homeland in fame and glory, not even thinking of the lives they had ruined.

The little girl returned her attention back to her father's corpse, burying her head into his cold chest. With tears beginning to dry out, Avice suddenly felt a wave of fatigue wash over her. She closed her eyes one last time, and as her body went limp, everything went black.

Avice's heart was beating incredibly swiftly as she pulled herself up in her bed. She was breathing heavily as she looked around the room, tears forming in her blue eyes. She threw her head back into the uncomfortable rabbit hide bed, groaning as she wiped away the wetness from her eyes. Sighing, her mind wandered to those painful memories. She shivered as she remembered her father's cold, bloodied corpse.

Avice pushed her eyes shut, quenching the tears that stayed in the corner of them. The image of his corpse was burned into her memory. One might assume that this would break a child greatly, but this wasn't the case for Avice. She was always courageous and determined, for she was raised that way. She knew that her father would never want her to be unable to move on if he were to die, for if she couldn't live without him, did he truly raise her to be competent?

Avice was hardly able to move on less than a few days after that horrid event. Now alone in the unforgiving world, she had to fend for herself, though there was not much that a young girl could do. At an age younger than nine years, she was helpless and hopeless.

* * *

As Avice harkened back to those horrifying memories, she sighed. Her eyes hadn't even begun to dry, as they were still occupied by salty wetness that filled them. She laid there in bed, half-hoping that weariness would drift her back to sleep where she could dream something less painful than what she had previously dreamed.

Looking around the darkened area, Avice took note of her surroundings. It was a small, compact room, even though it was her personal chamber. It was decorated with a few things: a small bed made out of rabbit hide, a desk that was about two or three feet long, a shelf that held some of her personal items, and a roof that was just a foot taller than Avice herself. Perhaps the best thing about the room was the medium-sized window that overlooked the courtyard.

Avice pulled herself over the side of the bed. Holding her head in her hands, she wiped the last of the tears from her eyes and gave out one last sigh. Pushing herself from the bed, she walked over to the window, her eyes gazing into the vacant courtyard. No light entered the area, save for a few torches that lined the thick stone walls of The Eclipse. The dim light exuded from these small flames was not nearly enough to light the inner area of the open field.

The Warden move her attention from the courtyard to the night sky. It wasn't a starry night, so the sky felt empty, like an endless void. Her eyes moved once again to beyond the walls. The Eclipse was sat on the border of a forest and a medium sized meadow. A river raced to Lake Eitrivatnen out of the corner of her eye. The Eclipse was just a few miles south of the lake, so it was in prime position to spot any vessels entering the body of water through the river.

Avice looked longingly at the river. It flowed freely and unrestrained. It was sort of a symbol of freedom. A kind of freedom that Avice had always wanted but never received. _What the hell am I doing?_ She thought. _Envying a fucking river?_ She shook her head. She pushed herself from the windowsill. Turning her back to the glass, her eyes landed on the small wooden desk.

An unlit candle sat atop it next to a small pot of ink and a goose feather that begun to wear down from endless use. A mess of scattered papers littered the desktop. The topmost paper was filled with words and cacography. All of these texts were scrawled over with ink, making the words beneath it almost illegible. Avice approached the paper with hesitance. Taking the paper, it felt old and it felt as if it had almost turned to dust, for it had been almost a year since she penned these words on this paper.

Avice lit the candle and peered down at the piece of paper. It was a letter. A letter to those the Warden had caused suffering. The deep black ink covered almost the entire page, and Avice couldn't dare to hope to be able to read the words she had crossed out. It was a dangerous thing, if she could remember correctly. She had written it just two weeks into her being here at The Eclipse.

It was a letter asking for forgiveness, for hope, and for inner peace. However, she knew that all those things were not destined to be with her, so she gave up on it. Furthermore, it would have been enough evidence as to convict her of treason against the Blackstone Legion. She set the paper back down and sighed. These things were still tearing her up inside. The pain of all those she had killed or caused misery to had stayed with her throughout her time as a Blackstone legionnaire.

Avice's eyes darted from the piece of paper as she heard a soft knock at the door.

"Hello?" Avice asked softly, not wanting to wake those who were sleeping.

"Lady Esclair, is everything all right in there?" A familiarly feminine voice emanated from beyond the thick wooden door. It was Eleanor, commander Forge's servant. She maintained The Eclipse's premises, making sure everything was clean and orderly.

"Yes." The Warden responded, her heart beating less rapidly now that she knew who it was. "Everything is good in here."

"Okay." Eleanor said. "Just call if you should need anything whatsoever."

"I will be sure to." Avice answered, half-hoping that the older woman would let her be. As she heard footsteps fade down the hallway, her eyes gaze returned back to the letter. She grabbed it and held it over the candle's flame, watching as the paper turned to ash. She didn't hesitate when doing this because she knew that she needed to get rid of any evidence that could be used against her.

Avice groaned and rubbed her temples before moving her bright blue eyes to the rabbit hide bed. _Perhaps it is time to go back to sleep and prepare for the next day_. She thought as she blew out the candle on her desk after the last of the paper's ashes fell onto the wooden surface. The woman walked over to the bed and laid down. She closed her eyes and let weariness carry her back to sleep.

* * *

It was a seemingly perfect day. The sun was shining brightly onto the landscape. The trees were a beautiful shade of green, and the flowers had begun to blossom, providing the splash of color needed to make the scene seem flawless. The water was serene and undisturbed and clear as could be. A tree provided shade for those to retreat from the sun's warming heat. It truly was a beautiful view.

Avice, clad in her Warden's armor, except for the helmet, stepped into the scenery. Her metal plates reflected the sunlight onto the keep's outer walls. The black and orange cloth that hung from certain parts of the armor where the chainmail came into contact with the steel plates blew with the slight breeze. She closed her eyes and basked in the warmth that the sun provided.

The Warden looked around the courtyard. Footmen marched around the outer perimeter, and two figures stood talking in the center of the area in the large tree's cooling shade. One of them, a Lawbringer, was recognizably a man named Devo Forge—master and overseer of The Eclipse. Clothed in his thick and sturdy armor, the man stood towering above the other figure. His helmet was pointed with eight long slits from top to bottom down the front. A chain connected the top of his chest armor to his breast, and a large lock hung from that point, depicting two crossed battle axes.

The other man was a Warden clad in black iron. His helmet was simple with two slits where the eyes were, contrasting itself with Avice's "T-shaped" slit design. A skull was engraved onto the man's helmet. An orange triangle was painted along the bottom of the helmet, going up to just above the skull's nose. The figure wore the signature black and orange colors of the Blackstone Legion, making the woman believe—and rightly so—that he was a Blackstone.

Avice approached the pair, her helmet in one hand and the other resting on her longsword. The grass crunched beneath her leather boots, alerting the pair of Blackstones to her presence. Forge turned to look at the woman, his face unreadable beneath his heavy helmet.

"Ah, Avice." He said, greeting the Warden. "This is Ademar, Knight of the Blackstone Legion and second to Holden Cross."

"It's good to finally meet you." Ademar said, reaching his arm out. "I've heard much about you."

"From whom?" Avice inquired as she shook the man's armored hand. "Surely no one of good word."

"Haha." Ademar responded after chuckling at the young woman's joke. "From Apollyon herself. She told me much about your background along with your impressive skills as a Warden."

"Oh, that's a surprise." She replied, a little shocked that the great warlord thought so highly of her. "What is one of your stature doing here at The Eclipse?"

"I've come to talk." He said, his voice losing the lightheartedness it had before.

"Don't let me interrupt then." Avice said, flashing a quick smile before stepping away from Forge and Ademar.

"Not with Forge…" Ademar pronounced. His eyes seemed to lock with Avice's even though his were behind a helmet. "I've come to speak with you."

"Oh, about what?" She asked, taking a step or two forward as to compensate for the few steps she took back.

"Not here, not now." Ademar whispered, only loud enough for the three of them to hear. "We must ride back to the Blackstone Fortress. Apollyon wants to speak with you in private."

"Well, the day is still young." Avice said in an equally low voice. "Shall we ride?"

"We shall." Ademar responded, turning away from the Warden. As he did this, Forge turned to Avice.

"Better get going then." The older man said. "You've got a long day ahead of you."

"I suppose." Avice responded, her eyes not moving from Ademar as he retrieved a black horse from the peasant that had been holding onto the reigns. She was slightly suspicious of Ademar, but if what he said was true, she couldn't deny going with him. Otherwise, things would not end well for her.

The pair of them walked down to the stables where the stablemaster had been preparing Avice's horse. The Warden climbed atop her brown horse as Forge held the saddle down, so it wouldn't slide around on the horse's back. She looked down at him from the animal, and he gazed back at her.

"I wish you luck, Avice." Forge told her as he took a step back from the horse. She nodded and put her helmet on, making sure to lock it in place.

"Thank you." She said, kicking the horse which made it rear. The horse then took off, galloping with a confident pace towards The Eclipse's gated exit where Ademar was already waiting.

"Ready?" He asked, his voice seeming a little bit more serious than it had moments before.

"As I'll ever be." The woman responded, waiting for her fellow Warden to give the order. He simply nodded and kick his horse, causing it to dart off. Avice did the same moments after, catching up to Ademar in seconds.

The Eclipse soon faded in the background. To Avice, this signified the closing of one chapter of her life and the beginning of another. Was she ready for this? Perhaps, but only time could tell.

* * *

A thick and unbroken darkness filled the heavens. Stars were seemingly absent this night, and clouds were not to be seen even on the horizon. The night sky was totally clear, and it could be seen without any kind of obstruction from where the young Warden sat. The moon was bright and circular, signifying that it had become a beautiful full moon.

A bright orange flame rose high into the sky from the small campfire that Avice and Ademar had created, throwing grey smoke even higher. The journey from The Eclipse to the Blackstone Fortress was about a two days' journey, so the pair had decided to set up camp for the night and rest here in the plains between the two locations.

Two small tents were setup directly opposite each other. Between these two sleeping quarters, a small campfire sat. Avice was seated on the muddy ground next to this fire, her eyes gazing into the beautiful flames. That was when Ademar stepped out, his helmet still fixated on his head. She could feel his eyes fall upon her.

"I suggest you get some sleep in preparation for our meeting with Apollyon on the morrow." He suggested, still standing a few feet away from his ally.

"I will." Avice responded, not moving her eyes from the fire. Ademar shrugged before turning around and stepping back into his tent. The soft glow of the candle from within that tent went out shortly after he went in. Her eyes still glued on the flames, Avice's mind wandered back to that letter and her early life.

The letter was definitely a regret of hers. Perhaps it was a mistake to burn that letter. Then again, it could have been used by the Blackstone Legion to accuse her of conspiracy or desertion. Still, she could not help but feel a sense of remorse for burning the small piece of paper that contained her confessions. Maybe she should have kept it and actually have sent it to those she believed deserved it most. Nonetheless, it was too late to get it back. She'd just have to let it go.

Avice removed her gaze from the fire, letting it fall onto her Warden helmet that rested beside her in the mud. _When I took that oath, I believed it to be the greatest chapter of my life._ She thought as she stared at the piece of armor, though it seemed to stare right back at her. _But I can't help but feel that it's not even a good one, and I can't believe that it could be the last. I took that oath to help people, not to harm them._

The Warden shook her head, trying to get rid of her doubtful thoughts. She stood and looked back down at the helmet before grabbing it. She stamped out the fire which had already begun to fade before looking at the moon. She could only hope that she was on the right path of her life. Avice turned and walked into the tent, laying down on her small makeshift bed. She sighed one last time before falling to a deep sleep.

The wet ground that was composed of bloodied mud rumbled, causing the little girl to open her eyes reluctantly. Her bright blue eyes were still teary from many nights before, so she had to wipe them away of that salty liquid before being able to see clearly. She pushed herself up from the cold corpse of her father and looked to the loud rumbling sound. She fell back to the ground, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention from anyone.

A large wooden wagon being pulled by two mules was what caused the creaky sound. It was being escorted by an armored figure on his own brown horse. He had the form of a Warden—a warrior that fought for honor and justice from the stories of old that the young girl had been told by her father. His armor was bronze, and his cloth was colored purple and gold, which were a pair of colors that the young girl vaguely recognized.

The Warden led the wagon in the distance on top of a small hillside when the convoy seemed to stop. The young Avice Esclair watched as he turned his horse to the village. As he made his way to Avice, she watched him intently, not making a sound. She wanted to be sure that he was not planning on doing any malicious thing. After a few minutes of observing the man, the young girl called for help. It was a faint call, and it was hardly enough to alert anyone that was not right on top of her.

The Knight turned his attention to Avice. Taking a few steps over, he knelt down beside her. Checking her father's pulse first, she could hear him sigh before turning his full concentration to her. She could feel his eyes look her up and down, but she couldn't see them beyond that bronze helmet.

"Are you all right?" Even though the Warden's voice emanated from behind his helmet, it was clear and struck through the sounds of the flickering flames. The metal head covering resembled a common Arcturus helm, except that it had extra openings just below the two eye gaps. His shoulders were embellished with spikes that rose from the bronze sporadically, and a sturdy steel sword hung low from within its scabbard as he knelt beside the young girl.

"I-I'm f-f-fine." Avice said, her voice betraying her words.

"You don't seem to look that way." The man said, chuckling after a little bit. He wanted to make the little girl feel less scared than she seemed to be. He wanted to take her mind away from the death and misery that surrounded her.

"Come." The Warden said in a friendly voice as he began standing. "I can give you food and water."

Avice was hesitant, but at this point she couldn't be a choosing beggar. She began to stand slowly, still not fully trusting this Warden. He pointed to the wagon that sat a few minutes' walk away from them. He began the short hike to the horse and carriage, having Avice follow with about a foot between the two.

When they reached the wagon, the Warden climbed into the back. Avice waited a few feet from the wagon. She heard the man's voice once again. He seemed to be talking to another one in the back of the carriage, and the second voice seemed much more inexperienced than his. The man climbed back out with a pitcher and some bread, which she took quickly.

It had been a long time since she ate or drank. The massacre of the village happened many days ago. So many that the young Avice could barely remember. In fact, the last thing that she could from that terrible day was everything going black. As she stood there eating and drinking to her heart's content, the young girl remembered the horrid things that happened not too long ago. She stopped eating when she recalled her father and his role in her life.

"Everything will be all right." The Warden said, breaking Avice from her memories. The young girl looked up at him with bright blue eyes that seemed a little dimmer. A moment later she broke into tears right there on the spot. As she cried softly, the man couldn't help but feel his heart break. He reached his arms around her, and she seemed to accept the embrace.

"Don't worry, little one." He whispered warmly. It had been a long time since he'd been the crying shoulder of someone, especially because of his career path.

When the she broke from his warm embrace, Avice fell to her knees, exhausted from all the tears that she had let loose. She collapsed onto the muddy ground and began to let weariness carry her away.

* * *

When Avice awoke suddenly, she was inside a building unknown to her. She was in a bed made from bear skins and wood, not something like the stacks of hay that she had used in the village she grew up in. A desk rested on the wall opposite her, and a large glass window rested above that, letting the bright morning light into the room and onto her. To her right, a closed door stood next to a dresser that was presumably filled with clothes.

She climbed out of the bed and onto the cold stone floor. It felt strange, as it was nothing like the rickety wooden floorboards that lined her old home. It felt firmer and stronger, though it was much harder and less comfortable on the feet. Avice walked silently to the window, her bare feet not making any noise against the thick stone floor. Climbing onto a little seat that was resting beneath the window, the young girl looked out through the glass.

A large field was visible. Filled with the beautiful orange trees of the season, luscious grass, and crystal-clear water, the area was certainly a perfect piece of scenery. In the distance, Avice could see a wall made of stone. She was in an enclosed space, presumably safe from any assault from the Vikings, Samurai, or rival Knights. Then again, perhaps she was in an unsafe place filled with evil men and women.

As the young girl climbed down from the chair, the door to the room swung open. An older woman—who looked to be in her late fifties—looked into the room, her brown eyes landing on the girl by the window. A dirty, toothy smile crept onto her wrinkled face.

"You're awake." She said, her voice very much suiting for her older body. "Come, Lord Vincent of the Royal Legion would like to talk with you."

Lord Vincent? Royal Legion? Avice had many questions, but they were not to be asked right now. She walked slowly to the older woman. Hesitantly, the young girl exited the room as the other woman closed the door. As Avice was escorted down the hall by the stranger, they passed no one. For such a large building, it was relatively empty.

The two finally made it to a large open room after about a minute of walking down carpeted walkways. A long wooden table with many seats stood in the center. Many large windows let in much sunlight into the room, making the golden chandelier that hung from the ceiling rather redundant. A man dressed in a Warden's armor was sat at the head of the table, his back turned to the pair. From the bronze armor plating and the colors of the cloth, it seemed to be the same Warden that took Avice from the destroyed village.

The older woman motioned for Avice to go talk to him, which she did hesitantly. As she slowly approached the man, thoughts raced around her head. Was this something that she should be doing? Only time could tell.

* * *

(Re)Introducing **Avice Esclair**, created by _MissBlackRock_.


	6. Chapter III, Part II - The Sacred Oath

_Chapter III, Part II – The Sacred Oath_

* * *

"Hello?" The young Avice Esclair's voice was mixed between fear and confusion. Then again, who could blame her? She'd been through a lot these past days. Her single word seemed to echo off the otherwise silent room, and that was enough for the man in the chair to turn to look at her.

Two deep brown eyes looked down at her, lined by unkempt eyebrows. The man's blonde hair was greying, and it was complemented by a thick bushy beard that had streaks of grey. His face, though starting to wrinkle, was defined and well chiseled from years of experience and war.

"Ah, you're awake." The man said, his voice as friendly as ever. "Come, sit and eat. You must be famished, for you have been sleeping for almost two days."

He motioned to the seat nearest to him on the adjacent side of the table. Avice climbed onto the cushioned chair and sat back in it. The man signaled to the older woman that escorted the young girl to him to fetch some food and drink. As she left, his eyes landed on the young Avice.

"I don't think we've properly introduced." He said warmly with a toothy smile. "I am Vincent Leonis."

He dropped the title, as he wanted to come off as a friend, not a master. Avice cocked her head, probably thinking the same thing. Her eyes looking over the man's features, she was tentative to talk.

"My name's Avice…" She whispered, her voice being barely heard by Leonis.

"A beautiful name." He said reassuringly, for he did not want to intimidate or scare the young girl. As he said this, a door across the room opened slowly. A young blonde-haired boy with the bright green eyes walked into the room. He was perhaps of about the age of twelve, only four years older than Avice.

"Ah, Crane, my boy!" Leonis said, drawing the attention of the boy. He motioned for him to come to the table where the two were sitting. "I want you to meet Miss Avice. She's going to be staying here for the foreseeable future."

The boy, Crane, walked over to them. He cocked his head and drew in the sight of the peasant girl. She was certainly different than all the other more privileged that surrounded him throughout his life. Avice did not dare to look at him, keeping her eyes to the ground.

"Nice to meet you!" Crane said cheerily with a large grin plastered on his face. He stuck out his hand, but he was promptly denied when all the girl did was shift in her seat. He lowered his hand, and his grin began to leave his face.

"Why don't you go see Sir Alber?" Leonis suggested to the young boy, who promptly shrugged before running off. The Warden turned his attention back to Avice. "Don't worry, Avice. You're safe now."

It was a simple phrase, but it did a lot for the young girl. All she needed was friendliness and reassurance of her safety. She would grow into her new life in this place. Years later, Avice was almost as happy as she was before the Vikings attacked her old home. In fact, she'd almost forgotten about that. As she grew older, she began to seem like a kid more comfortable in their own skin, though there was something about her that made her seem… different.

* * *

Avice's bright blue eyes stared intensely at the armored man before her. Sweat dripping from her brow and her hands clutching the hilt of her blade tightly, the only thing on her mind was winning this little skirmish. She was clad in steel armor, and her trusty longsword was sharpened to a deadly point. Breathing heavily through her mask, Avice stepped carefully to the side as her opponent mirrored her position.

Her opponent—a Lawbringer clad in his thick and sturdy armor with a poleaxe tall and deadly—waited for her to make the first move, which she indeed did. Avice pushed herself off the ground, charging towards her enemy in an attempt to knock him to the ground using her armored shoulder. However, the Lawbringer dodged to the side and retaliated by taking his poleaxe and smashing her body with the long metal rod, knocking her back as she hadn't yet recovered from the missed shoulder bash.

Avice stumbled back, dazed by her opponent's counterattack. The Lawbringer followed up the stun with a quick swing of his poleaxe straight down onto her. She quickly dodged to the side, diving onto the muddy ground to the right of her enemy. Since he missed his attack, the man's weapon's blade sunk into the dirt, lodging itself in between the mud and rock. He tugged on it but to no avail.

The woman took advantage of this opportunity by clutching her blade and taking a wide arc, splitting the air but stopping just before hitting the man's torso. His heart beating severely, the Lawbringer brought his hands up, signifying that Avice had won this little scuffle.

"I concede." The man said, breathing heavily and his heart beating too quickly for his liking. He lowered his hands and groaned, shaking his head. "You're getting too good at this, Avice."

"Hah." The to-be Warden responded sarcastically, returning her blade back to its scabbard. "You can never get too good when it comes to fighting."

"Perhaps, but maybe you should let me win a few." He jested, almost chuckling at his own joke. "Besides, I am the older brother."

"Then maybe you should act it." Avice shot back to the man she considered her brother. "I need to practice as much as possible, for I am coming up on my seventeenth birthday. That's the day I can finally take the Oath if I am qualified, and I plan on it."

"I suppose." Crane shrugged, returning his attention to his weapon lodged into the ground. "You'll be qualified, don't worry about it."

"I'm not." Avice said confidently. "It's just that, when that day comes, I'll be on an entirely new path of my life."

"Let's hope that you choose a just one." Crane responded, wrapping his hands around the handle of his poleaxe before tugging with all his might. "Are you going to stay with the Royal Legion?"

"I don't know." She replied, gazing down at her blade. It was a relatively simple one with a wooden hilt and a steel blade with no engravings on it. "I may just wander across the three regions, or maybe I'll join a different legion."

"I wouldn't blame you." Her brother said, finally getting his poleaxe to wiggle in the ground, though it was far from coming out. "The Royal Legion's been losing influence more and more. In fact, father has been talking with the leaders of other legions in Ashfeld. He's been trying to annex them into it."

"Oh?" Avice responded quizzically. "That's strange. Although I never heard of it when I was younger, the Royal Legion used to be one of the more prominent legions in Ashfeld. Then again, _you_ were the one that told me this."

"Fair enough." Crane said with a sarcastic laugh. He finally freed his poleaxe of its muddy bondage with a strong tug. He let out a sigh of relief and turned his full attention to Avice. "Still, I'm sure father would appreciate it if you stayed in the Royal Legion."

"Like you?" She said sternly, making the question less of a question and more of a statement. "I'm not sure if I want to be anything like you."

"Very funny." Crane shot back. He motioned for them to start walking back to the manor. They were standing inside a small pit about two or three feet dug into the ground. It was used for skirmishes and training for anyone trying to practice the sword. A ladder rested against one of the walls of the pit, and after Crane had reached the top, Avice soon followed, both by way of the ladder.

"I will be leaving later tonight." Crane mentioned as the pair walked down the dirt path towards the manor. "Father told me to go talk to Holden Cross of the Blackstone Legion about annexation."

"Blackstone Legion?" Avice asked with genuine curiosity in her voice. Unlike the Iron Legion or Regal Legion, this Blackstone Legion was not one of the legions that she had heard of. "Never heard of it."

"Nor have I until not too long ago." He responded, his eyes gazing over the horizon as the sun was lowering itself behind the landscape, giving off its final orangish glow of the day. "Apparently they control the area just below Mount Ignis, which is a strange and dangerous area of Ashfeld to take control of."

"They must be psychopaths." Avice joked sarcastically. "Anyway, I do wish you luck in your venture."

"I thank you graciously, and I do apologize for not being able to make it to your indoctrination." The Lawbringer said, flashing a rare white smile.

"Don't worry about it." She assured, returning his smile with her own, though hers lasted much shorter than his.

The pair made the rest of the journey in complete silence, neither one breaking it, and when they did reach the manor, Crane said his farewells as he walked off to the stables in order to begin his ride to Mount Ignis. Night had begun to fall by this time, so the bright circular moon shone in the darkened sky. Avice sat silently in her bedroom in the manor, which was the same room she had woken up in as a young girl when she first arrived.

She would often open the large glass windows and sit on the windowsill, her legs dangling over the side of the building. Like many nights before this, Avice did this same thing, though it seemed much colder this night than those before. Regardless, she sat there, her eyes gazing over the horizon beyond the walls. In just a few days, she would be an official Warden, and those lands would be hers to protect and uphold justice and hope.

_What am I going to do?_ Avice thought, her mind wandering to the unknown future of her Wardenship. _I can only hope that I choose the right path for me, for if I don't, then who knows what will become of me._ She sat there at a loss of what to do. Should she truly abandon her "family" and the Royal Legion for something new? What if this new thing was not what she should have chosen? Only time could tell however.

* * *

Avice stood there in the small dressing chamber alone and naked. She looked at the piece of polished metal that reflected her figure onto it. She stared at her reflection and sighed. She was muscular with rotund, well-sized breasts. Her lean shoulders blended into a strong torso that then merged seamlessly into a thin waist, and her fairly wide hips rested just above a pair of strong legs.

She raised a hand to her head, resting her fingers on her forehead. It was not her body that made her uncomfortable. It was, in fact, was stood strong and tall behind her. Turning to look around the room, her eyes settled onto an armor stand that donned her Warden's armor, and it certainly was a piece of art that was to be envied by all her allies and enemies that would set eyes on it.

It was made of some of the strongest steel in Ashfeld. The armor was thick enough to stop even the sharpest of katanas wielded by the Samurai. And even though it was adequately heavy to stop a Raider in their tracks, it was extremely lightweight, allowing Avice to maneuver quickly and relatively silently throughout the hazardous regions. The cloth that hung from the back and hips were colored the purple and gold signature colors of the Royal Legion.

Avice looked at the armor with a kind of longing. A longing for purpose. She did not feel as though she had any, so she kind of felt uncomfortable about taking the Warden's Oath this sacred day. She was about to be indoctrinated into the Warden's Order, and she wasn't sure if she was worthy. She tried to feel confident in this moment in time, but she still could not help but feel like she didn't belong. Regardless, Avice went forward with this oath, hoping that it would bring purpose to her seemingly worthless life.

The to-be Warden took a step forward to the armor, her bright blue eyes locking with the emptiness behind the helmet. Two slits intersected at the front of the helm, making a kind of T-shape, and few extra holes to let in air were dotted sporadically in the front. It made her shift on her bare feet, but she stood strong, taking the helmet from the stand. As she did this, a person knocked on the thick wooden door from beyond the entrance way.

"May I help you?" Avice called to the unknown person. She instinctively covered her exposed breasts and groin, though she could hardly cover all of herself.

"It is me and Elisabeth." An older woman called. The voice was distinctively Agatha, the older woman that took care of Avice when she was much younger and first arrived at the Royal Legion. Hearing that voice, the young woman relaxed, allowing her arms to fall to her sides, even though she still clutched onto the helmet.

"Come in." She said only loud enough for the pair behind the door to hear. The wooden entranceway creaked open slowly, revealing an old woman of about fifty to sixty years and a younger woman more of Avice's age.

Agatha was slightly shorter than the younger woman, and her short hair was greying, being followed by her eyes which began to lose their effectivity. Elisabeth, however, was as bubbly and full of life as possible. Her hair was a luscious brown, falling down to her midback region, and her eyes were a deep brown that was filled with emotion. A large grin plastered her face as she stood there.

"We are here to fit you with your armor!" Elisabeth said cheerily. Perhaps a little _too_ cheerily for Avice in that moment.

"Ah." Avice responded as she returned the helmet to the armor stand. Afterwards, she returned her attention to the pair of servants. "Let us begin then."

"The warm bath is prepared for you." Agatha reported to Avice, motioning for the young woman to follow her. The older woman walked into another door that led to the tub, and Avice followed behind with Elisabeth. The bathing room seemed even more cramped than the dressing room, even though that was a hard thing to do. There were no windows, and the only light came from a single, two-pronged candelabra that sat on a desk next to the shallow pool.

Avice walked over to the bath on the strangely dry floor. She bent over and stuck her hand into the liquid. It was tepid and felt good, so she stood up straight, taking the two steps up on the small stairway that led up into the tub. Cautiously dipping her feet in one by one, right foot then left, she lowered herself into the relatively hot liquid. She felt a wave of comfort wash over her, but it was quickly interrupted when the two servants began to scrub her down with rags and soap.

As they scrubbed the woman down, Elisabeth and Agatha whispered to each other. However, the sound of the water splashing as Avice moved around covered up the words, making them almost inaudible to the inductee. Besides, Avice would not have spoken up, not wanting to disturb the silence that had been kept, save for the noises emanating from the water's dancing.

When the tub was filled with leftover soap and the water began to turn cold, Agatha directed Avice to pull herself from the bath, which she promptly did. The two servants walked around the bath, towels in hand. And after they dried Avice's naked body, they returned back to the dressing room. Elisabeth took a long piece of tannish cloth and wrapped it around Avice's chest, tying it in the back which allowed it to support her comparatively large breasts.

Agatha instructed Avice to pull up her undergarments after wrapping the cloth around her chest, which she did with haste. Elisabeth stretched out her arms that held a shirt and pair of pants, and Avice took them, quickly putting them on. The eldest woman in the room walked to the armor stand dressed in Warden's armor. However, Agatha reached for the chainmail that sat just below the plate armor.

Giving the chainmail to Avice, who then quickly clothed herself in it, Agatha took the breastplate from the armor stand. She put it on the to-be Warden's chest. Letting the inductee hold it to her own self, Agatha retrieved the back part of the chestplate and pushed it against the chainmail on Avice's back, connecting the latches that connected the front and back pieces of armor just a moment later. It took almost two hours to fully suit up Avice in the end, and perhaps it wasn't worth it.

Regardless, Avice stood there in a full suit of Warden's armor, save for the head. She looked once more into the reflective metal that acted as a kind of mirror. Her figure complimented the armor. It fit snug and tight enough to not move around but not enough to restrict her, as it was built for her. She held the helmet in her hand, and she was not sure if she wanted to wear it. However, she knew that she had no choice. It was the day that she had been looking forward to for years. Why should she back out now?

"They are waiting for you." Elisabeth mentioned, breaking Avice from her kind of hypnotic trance. She motioned to the wooden door opposite the bathing room door; however, it was not the entranceway that the two servants entered through. This door led to the grand hall where Avice was about to be indoctrinated into Wardenship—something that she'd wanted for most of her life.

"Let us go then."

The grand hall was expansive. Large pillars rose up on either side of the main aisle, and a carpet of a deep purple lined it. At the end of the lane, a large raised platform stood. On top of this platform there was a throne made of stone and ivory with gold engravings. The roof was raised up high, arching in the middle above the main aisle. Large windows let in a lot of natural light into the room, eliminating the need for chandeliers, even though there were a few at certain points in the ceiling.

The room was almost completely vacant. There was only one person in it, and his name was Lord Vincent Leonis of the Royal Legion. An uneasy quietness settled over the room when the doors to the hall opened. Avice Esclair walked into the grand hall clad in her Warden's armor. She walked with fake confidence down the room on the purple carpet. She seemed poise, but that was a façade, for inside she was scared and worried of this day and what would come after it.

Avice's mind was filled with many thoughts, some good but most bad. By the time she reached the throne where she was to be inducted, she had almost completely collapsed. However, she was able to keep her composure. When she reached the man she called father, Avice knelt down onto one knee, her heart beating speedily in her chest.

The man retrieved his longsword that rested inside his leather scabbard, its blade glimmering in the sunlight that pierced through the large glass windows. The blade was beautiful. Forged from the some of the strongest steel in Ashfeld and sharpened to a point that could seamlessly and effortlessly pierce the flesh of a man, it was a weapon of death, and it was a horror to any whose eyes laid upon it.

Embellished with a golden skull where the blade met the handle, a piece of a ruby that was a blood red was in the middle of the skull's cranium. The handguard was complex, steel coming out of the sides of the skull in a kind of wave, and a semicircle of gold came out of that, joining together in the skull's jaw. A long strip of gold went halfway down the length of blade, changing into a degree of varying patterns along the way.

"Avice Leonis, daughter of Lord Vincent Leonis of the Royal Legion, you have wanted this moment from your earliest life." The Warden said, his voice echoing off the empty chamber that was the grand hall. "Do you swear to take the Warden's Oath and keep it in your heart, mind, and soul, never once forgetting it?"

"I swear." Avice whispered, only loud enough for the man to hear her. Her mind suddenly stopped. She could not believe, even in a million years, that this would be happening. Her quest, her wishes, her hopes to become a Warden was finally coming true.

"Do you swear to take the Warden's Oath to serve the innocent?" Leonis's eyes looked down at her from beyond the helmet, and she could feel his harsh gaze.

"I swear." The woman's closed her eyes, thinking of those words: "I swear." Did she truly swear, or was she just saying that to get this over with? She needed to confirm with herself that this was, in fact, was she wanted.

"Do you swear to take the Warden's Oath to uphold the fragility of peace and justice above all else, including pride, wealth, fame, and even love and friendships?" Leonis spoke, his voice harsher than it had been before this day.

"I swear." This time, she seemed a little more hesitant to respond. However, she plowed forward with the indoctrinations, regardless of her reservations.

"Then say it." The man ordered starkly. "Say the Warden's Oath to officiate yourself and join the ranks of many other Wardens that have also swore this sacred oath."

"For honor and valor, I shall fight, not for fame and fortune. Even in the face of death, I shall keep my faith in my ability and sword." Avice started, her voice growing stronger with each word. "My sword shall not be an instrument of pain and death, nor shall it be a vessel of hatred and prejudice. I shall keep peace and justice above all else in battle, and I shall not—not even for profit or reward—do anything that will break this oath, which all Wardens are subject to, for it is my duty as a Warden to serve Ashfeld with the utmost respect."

"Good." Leonis took his weapon and hovered the blade just above Avice's shoulders next to her head. "I, Lord Leonis, a Warden of Ashfeld, now declare you a keeper of peace, a vessel of hope, and an upholder of justice and valor. I declare you a Warden. Now you shall rise Dame Avice Esclair, Warden of Ashfeld."

The newly appointed Warden pushed herself off the ground as Leonis returned his sword to his scabbard. She suddenly pushed herself into the now shocked man, giving him a warm embrace. Tears began to fill her eyes, and she couldn't help but let them flow. He hesitantly wrapped his arms around her after a few seconds of standing there in surprise. It was a kind of embrace that only a father could give. IT was comforting and supportive, and it was something that Avice needed in that moments. For minutes, they stood like that.

"Sorry." Avice whispered as she pushed away from the way, standing up straight after wiping the last of salty tears from her eyes.

"Oh, it's perfectly fine." Leonis assured, smiling after a short chuckle. "Though I must say that's the first time that's ever happened to me."

Avice giggled for a moment before returning back to being serious.

"It's just that I'm not sure what to do now." She unlatched her helmet and brought it off her head. She held it with both hands, and her now visible bright blue eyes looked down at it. Leonis's cheery face became replaced with a sterner one as soon as he saw the confusion in her face.

"Look." He said, grabbing the attention of the solemn Avice. "You'll find out when the time is right. Just know that you've accomplished something that not many others have done before."

A smile began to form on Avice's face. Perhaps those were the words she needed to hear in that instant, but she felt a wave of inner peace wash over her. He was right. She just needed to take a step back and accept the victory that she had in the moment. She sighed and thanked Leonis for his small piece of advice.

And ever since that day, Avice was a faithful Warden, sticking to the sacred oath that she had spoken.


	7. Primus - The Judge

_Primus – The Judge_

* * *

"Unworthy." The Lawbringer's quiet voice was met with a solemn silence that was felt within each member of his audience. Tears and whimpers could be seen and heard respectively throughout the small wooden structure that acted as a rudimentary meeting hall for the village.

The Iron Legion's Lawbringer was here to judge the village. Depending on whether they were worthy of defense or not, the Iron Legion would either send legionnaires to the village or abandon it entirely. And right now, he had judged it to be the former—something that was very bad for the village, for they could do nothing against the Vikings and their barbaric assaults against Ashfeld.

"There aren't enough Iron Legionnaires to defend you. We're already spread too far apart." He continued after a few moments. "You're unworthy of protection. I pity you, but I cannot stay. I must return back to Harrowgate for the ensuing Viking horde."

"No!" An older woman in the back screamed, her voice breaking and filled with fear and disappointment. "You must stay and help us! Please!"

The Lawbringer, who had been called Dante, looked at the woman before motioning for two armored Iron Legionnaires to force the commotion-maker out of the room. With tears streaming down her face, she reached for the man as she was carried away, her cries being heard through the thin walls even from outside.

"Then what of us?" Asked an older man. His eyes were becoming colorless, and his hair was a deep shade of grey, showing that he was one of the elders of the village. He was devastated by this news, but he kept his voice strong and hopeful, not for him but for the other villagers in the building.

"You must find someone else to defend this village or leave offerings to the Vikings." Dante said, leaning back in his wooden chair before looking down at some bread and wine that sat on the table between him and the older man. "Perhaps those barbarians have some compassion left in them."

The old man audibly breathed out from his nose in a sign of frustration. However, he knew that there was nothing that could be done to change the mind of the Lawbringer that sat across from him. He sighed, closing his eyes as he did so. He could only imagine the pain and suffering that would be thrust upon the people of this village, and it saddened him.

The old man could tell the villagers to pack up their things and leave, but he knew that would not be beneficial. This village was all that they knew. If they tried leaving, then they would almost certainly die in the unknown that extended beyond the people's small lives. He could also try telling them to learn the blade, but that wouldn't work either, for they were nothing but farmers.

It seemed hopeless, and perhaps it was.

"I must leave." Dante said, pushing himself up from the wooden chair. His heavy black iron armor shifting and scraping as he did so, the screeching sound of metal against metal filled the silence. "I can't say that it's been pleasurable, but I do wish you luck with your problems."

The Lawbringer looked around the room, his eyes locking with the eyes of the villagers. He knew that if these people were to die to the hands of the Viking hordes, then the weight of their deaths would fall on his shoulders, as he was the one to sentence such a thing upon them. However, this was not a new thing for Dante. He had become acquainted to such a difficult feeling. So much so that it was barely difficult anymore.

A pair of eyes—dark brown and angry—watched Dante from the back of the room. The eyes belonged to a young woman of perhaps her late teens to early twenties. Her hair was a luscious brown, but it had been dirtied with mud. Her figure was thin, but she was taller than most of the other women in the building. This woman watched the Lawbringer with hate and anger, which were things that many in the room felt but did not portray.

The figure knew what had happened. This man just sentenced her and her people to a life of suffering, pain, and eventual death. Who was he to sentence them to such a fate? What gave him power over people's well-being and lives?

* * *

A ghost.

That is what they called the figure. It would travel from town to town in the Myre, slaughtering any criminals that it would come across mercilessly. This ghost, which was infamously called Sakura by those who had feared her, had found this way of life to be hers. She knew that this was her purpose in life: to kill those unworthy of life. Who were those people? It was up to her own discretion.

Sakura remembered the day she became this ghost vaguely. It began with a mountain, a calling, and rain.

The executioner knelt in an unending silence atop a rocky hill. Rain fell in great amounts from the heavens, forming pools of the cold liquid in puddles. Sakura shuddered as the water rolled down her leather gauntlets and soaked her outer layer of deep red cloth. She did not shiver because of the rain, however. It was because she felt the Spirit of Death move within her. It was time for another execution.

Sakura took a white mask that had been stained with dirt and blood. After fashioning the human-looking façade to her face, she grabbed her Fuetsu that was resting against a large rock just off to the side. She used the large axe to push herself to her feet, a variety of wooden shrunken heads hitting one another as she did so.

The figure began her trek to a remote village. It took many days of walking, but she did not falter nor stop. She walked in a kind of trance. She did not sleep or eat when she walked this journey. She would often not move her eyes from the direction of the village for long periods of time. It seemed as though something otherworldly or supernatural controlled her every move.

The muddy paths that twisted and curved through the Myre were overrun by nature. Thick bushes and large jungle trees sprouted along the roads in sporadic places, making the once clear trails into a maze of dirt and stone. Still, this labyrinth of trees did not falter the woman. She knew every nook and cranny of the Myre completely. Sakura had lived under this canopy of jungle for her entire life, and there was nothing that happened within the Myre that she did not know.

When the ghost reached the small village, night had come and go thrice over. The moon was shining brightly when she had entered the grounds of the seven or so scattered buildings. All of these buildings were built along one strip of a dirt road absent of any torches or light. The silence was unbroken in the serene night, and Sakura made sure to keep it that way.

The man the ghost was here for, Ryoshi, was a fisherman. Contrary to what one might assume, Ryoshi's humble job was not the only thing he had done. He was a murderer. On a night similar to one like this, he had murdered two innocent women. He had slept with another woman, but he was caught by his spouse. In a blind rage filled with shock and hate, he struck down both his wife and the other woman, hoping to cover up his dishonor. However, it only caused the Spirit of Death to call out his name.

As Sakura walked down the muddied main road, the night's silence remained unbroken. She approached a certain building on the cliffside by the ocean. It was a simple wooden house without any architectural expertise. Simply, it looked as though it was a peasant's home built of what he could find in the woods with minimal work. It was suitable, however, that such an ugly house fit such an ugly person: Ryoshi.

The ghost marched up the building's front steps, completely disregarding the need for silence from earlier. The sound of the floorboards creaking underneath the heavy weight of the vessel of death must have been loud enough to wake the old fisherman, for a lantern within the house was lit. Soon after, a face lined with greying hairs and a balding head peered through the windows, its expression changing from annoyance to horror as the two brown eyes looked at the figure.

"No!" The man screamed, pushing from the window and, presumably, towards a back door or exit. Loud, clumsy footsteps could be heard as he ran along the creaking wooden floor. Sakura quietly—which was too quietly for a woman of her size—and swiftly made her way around the house to catch the fleeing fool.

Sakura quickly made the perimeter around the house, catching up to Ryoshi in a short time. She grabbed the man by his collar and threw him behind her onto the ground. Turning on her heel, the two dead eyes of her wooden mask locked with his. There was no moment before then that he felt fear, for he did not know the true meaning of the word until he locked eyes with the embodiment of death.

The ghost took a step closer the man in the mud before putting her right leather boot onto his chest, pinning him onto the ground. The man's chest closed in as his screams began to soften, but they had already alerted the rest of the village. Some men and women along with their children walked out onto the street, for they wanted to see what the commotion was about.

Sakura looked around at the gathering crowd, her mask as emotionless as ever. The onlookers gazed at the executioner, their eyes filled with horror. Fathers ushered their wives and children back inside their homes, and the mothers tried to sooth the cries of their babies; however, the babies' cries were not silenced on that dark night.

Her Fuetsu resting by her side, Sakura dug her left foot into the ground, and she moved her right foot off the man's chest, digging that foot into the mud soon after. The man's already widened eyes widened even further, as he knew that his death would soon come. The ghost's grip around the handle of the weapon tightened and audible breaths could be heard from behind the cold mask. And in the blink of an eye, the face of the old man was split in two with blood spurting from the wound, his brain clearly visible beyond a thick layer of blood.

As she pried the heavy blade of the Fuetsu from the face of the dead man, something moved within Sakura. Something within her told her that she could not leave this town without liberating it. She turned on her heel and locked eyes with the crowd's. Her false enemies' eyes dilated as they realized what was about to happen. However, unlike Ryoshi, they did not run, for it was futile.

First, the children—the innocent and future.

Then, the women—the backbone and nurturer.

Lastly, the men—the flesh and provider.

Blood and bones covered the ground when it was all done. Heads, which were still covered in flesh and hair, littered the premises. Eyes—free of their eye socket constraints—littered the muddy ground, being paired with the villagers' pulled teeth. Sakura sat there amongst all of these things in this horrid scene.

Something was different about this ghost. She no longer killed for justice against thieves, murderers, and rapists. Now, she killed for the thrill of it. For the want of blood. Of pain. Of misery. And even though blood covered almost every inch of this executioner, her mask—which she now considered her true face—was untouched with no blemish or scratch. It was as clean as humanly possible.

However, Sakura could no longer stay here. Something moved within her once again, and it was not to be unheard. The Spirit of Death called for more blood and killing, and who was Sakura to deny her it this thing?

* * *

**This is the first in a series of "Inter Capitula" _("between the_ _chapters"_ in Latin). They will be numbered but in Latin (Primus = First). They are part of Nos Sunt Lupi, and they are meant to serve as extra exposition that I didn't want attached to an actual chapter. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, and happy reading.**


	8. Chapter IV, Part I - The Renjiro Clan

_Chapter IV, Part I – The Renjiro Clan_

* * *

The Myre was a harsh environment for anyone not accustomed to it. Many different species of plants and animals lived here: some dangerous, some passive. The people here—the Samurai—could be even more deadly than the creatures that crawled around the wet and muddy grounds. One would be wise to leave them out of wrongdoings, but it seemed that no one across the three factions were wise enough for that simple fact.

It would be easy to ignore the Samurai, for they normally maintained a passive approach to the other two factions. However, the Knights and the Vikings had never learned from past mistakes. Motivated by greed and bloodlust, they would attack the Samurai. Many times, they would assault the Myre, hoping to gain some kind of advantage against the enemies in their own region.

That was in the past, however. The most recent attack against the Samurai and the Myre was from the Blackstone Legion. That event was a few years ago, and with no battles occurring since then from neither the Vikings nor Knights, the people of the Myre allowed themselves to settle back down into a peaceful state. Still, they were wary of trusting either of the two other factions after a rough history.

None of that history mattered to the young Tsutsui Kanon. She did not care for the wars against other factions, for it was not the Knights nor Vikings that took her parents from her. It was her own blood—Samurai from other clans. Kanon should have died along with her parents, but they hid her in the basement just before the slaughtering of the village. She would have been left there had she not been found by the Renjiro clan—the clan which was supposed to protect her village but did not after the small town failed to meet a crop quota.

The Renjiro clan had found the young Kanon in the small basement a few hours after the initial raid from the rival group of Samurai. She was found cowering and fearful—emotions fit for such a young girl in such a dark time and place as this. They were cautious with the young girl, but they eventually decided to take her with them. The Renjiro clan took Kanon deep into the Myre's thick jungles where she would be raised by a pair of well-meaning adults. Eventually, Kanon would abandon her born name to take that of her new parents': Nakasone Hanako.

Contrary to what many other children would do if they were put through these horrible circumstances, Hanako was not content with wallowing in pain and sorrow. She used it as a way to see the world differently. She said farewell to the innocence of a child, and she welcomed realism and a brand-new pragmatic view of the world. With this new attitude and perspective, she put all her time into training. She had learned that you could not depend on the world helping you; instead, you had to help yourself, and she planned to do that.

Hanako would stay with the Renjiro clan for many years, for she considered them her family since her actual one had met their tragic end. She trained under many Shinobi, and whilst her ability was not extraordinary—for it was only above average at best—it was the fact that she so easily picked it up that propelled her in the eyes of the clan. It was not in her physical weapons that her skill lay—although she definitely was deadly with them—but it was within her leadership and ability to strategize.

Because of her good leadership skills and her natural, no nonsense attitude, the Renjiro clan assigned Hanako to the task of training the youngest recruits. Since she could not measure up to some of the more notable members of the clan, she mostly specialized in teaching the trainees the listening and patience skills that they would need to become a Shinobi. Most of her students would eventually become some of the deadliest of the Renjiro clan simply because they knew the true meaning of discipline, and they could only thank Hanako for that.

Nevertheless, training was not the only thing that Hanako did for the clan. They would often send her on reconnaissance tasks, which she always completed with success. However, the young Shinobi would soon be tasked for one of the most important missions. It was a kind of right of passage for her. The Renjiro clan was always very particular, so it was strange of them to give one of their _trainers_ one of these assignments.

Here she was: the small wooden meeting hall in the heart of the Myre. The walls were short, but the roof arched, allowing for some much needed height within the cramped area. Torches lined the perimeter of the room, casting dim light into the center of the windowless chamber. A wooden throne-like chair sat along the back wall draped in a bear's fur coat.

A man sat in this chair. He was dressed in a fine cloth with small pieces of leather in select places. Unlike other Shinobi, he was not wearing a mask. His face was stern and young, which was strange for a man in such a high position. A golden ornament depicting a half crescent moon with three stars sat atop his head, signifying his role in the Renjiro clan. This man, Tetsuo Renjiro, slumped back in his chair.

"Hanako." Tetsuo said as the young woman silently entered the relatively empty building, his two brown eyes looking her up and down. She was dressed in full Shinobi gear, her weapons included. She bowed slightly before his presence.

"Yes, master?" Hanako's voice remained low, but it was just loud enough for Tetsuo to hear her.

"You've done much for the Renjiro clan." He commended as he sat up from his slouched position. "But I think you could do more. You have certainly proved yourself as an efficient Shinobi, but you could always be better."

Tetsuo paused and stood before walking over to Hanako. She tensed more and more the closer he got to her. He stopped just behind her, but she did not dare look over her shoulder at him. Neither did he.

"Darius Shonto." He whispered just barely loud enough for Hanako to hear. "He has become quite the nuisance for us here in the Myre. I don't like nuisances."

"Of course not, sir." She mentioned, keeping her eyes glued ahead of her.

"We have word from other Shinobis that he was seen riding to the Wolfstone Outpost." Tetsuo informed as he turned on his heel to look at Hanako from the back. "Go there and prove your worthiness for the Renjiro clan. Kill Darius Shonto, and you will gain much from this simple thing."

"It is done, master." Hanako said.

"Good." Tetsuo said after he walked back to the wooden chair. Turning on his heel, he looked straight into Hanako's amber eyes. He bowed, and she returned the favor. He waived his hand, alerting her that she should leave—which she subsequently did.

This meant a lot to Hanako. If she could successfully complete this task she was given, then she could further herself in the hierarchy of the Renjiro clan. She was not one to be content with where she was; she was always trying to improve herself. So, when the chance to become one of the few "generals" that commanded small groups of Shinobis came, she took it with fervor.

* * *

The night was young, the moon was full, and the Myre was quiet. These were all things that the young Shinobi was relieved about. She was lying down on her stomach, muddying her cloth and leather armor. Hanako was silently waiting for a man named William. He was Darius Shonto's second and advisor. He was to pass through the Myre on his way to the Wolfstone Outpost from one of the various farms that was nestled along the border of Ashfeld and the Myre.

Hanako was lying inside a thick bush that was just large enough to cover her torso. She pushed aside a few of the branches, keeping her eyes glued on the barely used path made of mud and loose stones. In the distance she could hear the clicking of horse hooves. It must have been William, for no one else would have used such an unknown path. The Shinobi's suspicions were later confirmed when her target crested the hill, letting her see the emblem on his shoulder armor.

The emblem was of a right half of a skull, the left half of a Knight's helm, and a sword splitting down the middle where the two other symbols connected to each other. All of this was orange on a black background. It was an emblem that struck Hanako with a sense of familiarity. Most, if not all, the Samurai throughout the Myre knew this insignia. It belonged to the Blackstone Legion—the legion that had marched against the city of Koto years ago.

_What is the Blackstone Legion doing in Ashfeld?_ Hanako thought. The growing sound of horses snapped the young Shinobi from her thoughts. William and two other men—whose names were unknown to Hanako—rode their horses closer and closer to her hiding place but just far enough to not notice the Samurai. As they approached, her heart began beating even more. She silently retrieved her Oyumi that had been lying just beside her. Placing the arrow in its wooden frame, the Shinobi snapped a long cord into place.

Hanako aimed her shot with the Oyumi. She breathed in and out once before letting the arrow fire off from the weapons, splitting the air with its great velocity. The sharp object pierced the soft part between one of the two unnamed men's shoulder plate and helmet, sending the man flying onto the ground beside his horse—dead. William and the other unknown instantly drew their swords and looked to where the arrow originated from.

In response, the Shinobi put down her Oyumi before letting her Kusarigama fall into her hands. She threw a smoke bomb down and jumped from the small overlook that she had been perched on. Landing just behind the second nameless man, threw her right Kusarigama from a distance of a few feet. The sharp point nestled itself in between his chainmail and plate armor. After Hanako pulled on the chain, which sent the man flying from his horse and towards her, she took her left Kusarigama and planted the blade deep into the man's exposed face between his eyes, killing him almost instantly.

Hanako retrieved the Kusarigama from the dead man and turned her full attention to William. His grip visibly tightened around the hilt of his longsword; she could feel his fear even from beyond his silver helmet. He let out a scream and charged at her from atop his horse. Hanako pushed from the ground and jumped high into the night sky. She timed this perfectly, as she glided above the man's blade as his horse passed her previous position.

William quickly recovered and turned his horse back around to face her once again. Hanako landed the jump and also turned on her heel to look at him with an emotionless expression. He snarled from beyond his helmet. In response, the Shinobi retrieved her Ninjatō—a weapon similar to that of the Katana but shorter and straighter—that had been strapped to her back.

Growling, William once again road straight at the woman, swiping his sword towards her. Thinking fast, Hanako crouched down, slicing open the side of the brown horse as she did so with her sword. The animal toppled to the ground, sending the man from its back and into the muddy road. He quickly pushed himself up and angrily yelled after removing his helmet and throwing it to the earth, revealing a young, chiseled face filled with hatred.

The Blackstone legionnaire held his longsword with both hands, ready to fight the Shinobi in a close-combat skirmish. He buried his feet deep into the mud, anchoring himself in case his opponent was the first to attack. The Shinobi stood from her crouched position and turned back to the man. Her amber eyes locked with his dark brown. They stood like this for less than a minute, but that was still too long for the now bloodthirsty Blackstone dog.

William pushed himself forward, his longsword raised high into the night sky. He brought the weapon down onto the Shinobi, but she had ducked out of the way towards his right, cutting off the leather straps that held his breastplate to his chest with her Kusarigama as she did so. Recovering from the missed swing, William turned on his heel to look at the Shinobi. He tore off the plate of armor that was now hanging off to the left of his torso, throwing it to the ground like his helmet.

"You damned Samurai pigs!" He spat at the woman. "You're going to die!"

Hanako remained silent as he hurled swears and insults her way, her face remaining almost completely stoic. After a few more seconds of verbal attacks, William charged at her once again; however, he was met with the Shinobi charging at him once again as well. Just as they were both about to collide, Hanako dropped to the floor and slid across the muddy ground into his legs, knocking him to the ground. He lost grip of his blade as he fell, causing his longsword to be thrown to the side.

The Shinobi quickly recovered, retrieving her Ninjatō shortly thereafter. She silently walked up to the fallen Knight as he rolled onto his back. She pointed the blade at William's exposed neck. He took a deep breath in before holding his hands above his head, signifying defeat.

"It's over." Hanako demanded, her quiet voice piercing the man's ears and pride.

"No!" William yelled. As he was lying on his back on the ground, he kicked the Samurai's shin, which threw off her balance and sent her to the muddy earth beside him. He rolled over on top of the Shinobi, pinning her beneath him. He wrapped his hands around her neck and started squeezing, choking her.

Hanako could feel her life leave her body with every breath she would try to take. Feeling herself begin to go dizzy, she had to stop him. In a split second she kicked upwards, her hooked boot slicing into the man's crotch. His grip loosened as he screamed in pain. Hanako pushed the man off of her and to her feet. William attempted to stand from her feet but to no avail. He clutched his bleeding nether regions and collapsed to his knees in complete agony.

"You bitch…" William's once commanding voice was broken and quiet as his breath left his body. He toppled to the ground in pain, squirming there for a few moments as blood gushed out of various wounds in his body. After two or three minutes, he had lost too much blood, and his vision went black as he passed out.

All while this was happening, Hanako had stayed on her back, taking in deep breaths every few moments. She allowed herself to take a break and catch her breath, which was something unusual for the normally constantly working Shinobi. She knew this was not the end of the task she was given, but perhaps she was allowed a pause.

* * *

(Re)Introducing **Nakasone Hanako**, created by _Mister Bombastic_.

**Sorry for this one being much shorter than the others, but I wanted to get something out this week, which is why I split it up into separate parts. With school and a certain weather event happening, things have been quite hectic these past few weeks. And concerning that aforementioned weather event, I wouldn't expect a chapter next week or the one after that because power/internet might be an issue. **

**Other than that quick update, I hope you enjoyed the chapter.**


	9. Chapter IV, Part II - The Shameful Death

_Chapter IV, Part II – The Shameful Death_

* * *

Ashfeld, the region controlled by the Knight faction, was a beautiful place. Hanako had only been once or twice because of her previous espionage tasks given to her by the Renjiro clan, but the area was magnificently formed, especially when it was contrasted to the horrible swamps of the Myre. However, now was not the time to appreciate the beauty of the landscapes when they were being ravaged and torn apart by the damned Knights.

Hanako sat in a large tree, its branches covering her effectively. Splayed across two other branches, a man slept, his clothes and armor stripped away from him. He wore only two things: a thick bandaged soaked in blood that was attached to his groin and a dense piece of rope tied around his neck. The man, William, had fallen to Hanako less than two days ago. It was strange for a person to care for their enemy, but the Shinobi had other plans for the Blackstone dog.

The Shinobi looked upon the man's unconscious form. He had been sleeping for a long time, making her wonder whether she should have just killed him. That was when he shifted. William's eyes struggled to open all the way with the bright sun shining through small openings in the tree's canopy. His brown eyes gazed around his immediate surroundings; why was he in a tree? His eyes moved from his leafy surroundings and settled onto Hanako.

"What?!" He yelled with a broken, raspy voice as he flinched away, almost plummeting from the tree. To his luck, however, he caught himself before he could fall the almost thirty-foot drop.

"You're finally awake." His captor said, her voice quiet and calm as she looked upon him. "You've been asleep for nearly two days."

"Let me go this instant, you wretch!" William demanded. His actions contradicted his seemingly confident voice since he cowered in a fear that he seemed to refuse to acknowledge was there.

"I wouldn't speak to your captor like that." Hanako said quietly, her eyes narrowing at the nuisance that was the man that sat in front of her. "After all, I hold your life in my hands."

She motioned with her head towards a piece of rope that she held in her hands. The thick cord connected to the noose that had been tied around William's neck. His eyes widened as he realized what she could do with a simple kick.

"You bitch." He whispered under his breath, believing that it was not going to be heard by his captor. He was wrong. She peered at the man when he uttered those words. Hanako pulled on the rope, sending him stumbling closer to her.

"Where is Darius Shonto?" She demanded, slightly pushing him away from her as she readied her position to kick him off if he was going to be noncompliant.

"I'd rather die before I tell you where he is!" William spat angrily. In response to the wrong answer, she grabbed his hand that had been resting idly on one of the tree's thick branches. She took hold of one of the fingers and pulled it backwards until an audible snap followed by a scream could be heard.

"God-fucking damnit!" He yelled, attempting to pull his hand away from the Shinobi; however, she kept hold of it, wrapping her palm around the next digit of his—the middle finger. "You're a crazy fucking bitch!"

"I'll ask once more: where is Darius Shonto?" Her voice cut through the man's arrogant mind.

"H-he's at the Wolfstone Outpost!" William confessed, his cocky voice giving way to a shaky cowardly one. Hanako raised an eyebrow at the Knight. That outpost was originally a Royal Legion-controlled one, and to her knowledge, they never lost it. Unless the Blackstone Legion had taken the Royal Legion, there was no reason that they should have been able to take the Wolfstone Outpost without her knowledge.

"Why is he there?" She questioned, raising her voice only slightly.

"I answered your goddamned question already!" He answered, avoiding the question. "Now, let me go!"

"I'll give you another chance before I break your next finger." Hanako shot back. She tightened her grip around his finger and pulled down slightly. "Now, why is he there?"

"Fucking hell." William uttered, moving his hand two minimize the stress on his finger's joints. "We joined the Blackstone Legion under the orders of Lord Vincent."

Hanako went silent, her mind filled with thoughts. The Knight looked upon his captor, not daring to interrupt her in case he was to anger her. After a few minutes of dead silence, save for the creaking of the branches as William shifted to a more comfortable position, it was broken by the Shinobi.

"I think it would be better for me to keep you alive… for now." She said, releasing his hand from her tight grip. The man pulled his hand away from her, wincing as he slightly touched his injured fingers.

"Thank fuck you came to your senses." William said, sighing in relief. His relief was soon cut short when he realized the latter part of what she said, his eyes widening as he did. "Wait, what do you mean 'for now?'"

The Knight's question was met with narrow eyes from the Shinobi. She leaned over, causing her captive to instinctively move away. In response, she simply pulled the rope from around his neck. William reach to touch his neck—which had been reddened from the tight piece of cord. Just a second after the rope had been removed, Hanako put her boot against his chest and pushed him from the tree.

"You fucking cunt!" William yelled as he fell from the tall tree, crashing into the grassy land below. He groaned as he rolled around on his back. He was quickly followed by Hanako, who had jumped from the tree with great finesse.

When the man opened his eyes with great pain, he was greeted by the Shinobi standing over him with his armor in her hands. She threw the set of leather and metal onto him shortly after he realized what he was looking at. After she threw it onto him, he checked the armor, but he quickly noticed that his sword was missing.

"Put it on." Hanako commanded shortly after throwing the stuff onto him. "Maybe you'll get your sword after you're put in the ground… maybe."

William's eyes narrowed on her, making a deep humming sound of annoyance as he did so. He pushed himself from the ground and began strapping himself into his armor. After he finished tightening the leather straps that connected his breastplate to his backplate, he turned on his heel to look Hanako in the eye, crossing his arms.

"What now?" William asked, looking at the Shinobi that had been silent for a little while.

"We go to the Wolfstone Outpost."

The captor and her prisoner walked for miles in mostly silence until they reached the region known as the Dolo Plains—a place formerly characterized by flat grasslands and serene ponds. It used to be a beautiful place, but war had ravaged the area so much that it was filled with fiery ashes and decomposing bones. In the midst of the death that surrounding it, the Wolfstone Outpost stood strong.

Formerly a fortress for the Wolfstone Legion, it had fallen a long time ago to Vikings. Years after the Vikings first taken the grounds, the warlord Apollyon's legion marched in and massacred them. It was a bloodbath; the Vikings stood no chance against the might of the Blackstone Legion, even if they were a smaller one at the time.

Now, the Wolfstone Legion was controlled by the Blackstone's as a kind of outpost that looks over the Myre-Ashfeld border, and it was at this outpost that Hanako's mission was. According to her prisoner, Darius Shonto was within those stone walls.

Hanako's eyes peered over a ridge at the structure. It was expansive, for it was a former fortress. It stood atop one of the few short hills in the Dolo Plains region, and it had been built there for its vantage point over the Myre's thick swamps and the Dolo Plains that bordered them. From her position the Shinobi could see the entrance to the outpost; two large banners depicting the Blackstone Legion's emblem hung from the two towers that guarded this entrance.

William waited next to Hanako, his own eyes looking at the structure with a different kind of look than hers. He looked with a longing. It had been a few days journey, and he had been sick of the ropes that were tied around his hand. He could feel his hands turn purple underneath the leather gloves from a lack of blood flow from how tightly his bindings were tied. The Knight removed his eyes from the Wolfstone Outpost and to his captor.

"What's your plan?" He inquired with skepticism. "How are we getting in there?"

"I never said anything about a 'we.'" Hanako said, keeping her eyes glued on the structure. "You're staying here."

"What?" William said, being slightly surprised by her comment. "You've kept me alive just to stand by a tree?"

"No." She responded as she turned her head to look at him. "I kept you alive just to be tied to a tree."

The Shinobi pushed herself up and grabbed the ropes that bound the man's hands behind his back. She pulled him up to his feet since he could not do it himself. Taking another piece of rope that had been hanging from her belt, she wrapped that around his torso, tying him tightly to a tree.

"And what happens to me?" William asked after a hefty sigh.

"Don't worry." Hanako 'reassured' the Knight. "I'll come get you after I have a talk with Darius Shonto."

After she had finished tying the man to the thick tree, the Shinobi took a step back and narrowed her eyes at William a last time, looking at the job she did with the rope. Something was not quite right. She slowly approached her prisoner and knelt to his feet. Taking one of the blade of her Kusarigama, she slashed his ankles, causing him to scream. Luckily, they were too far away from the Wolfstone Outpost to be heard.

After she was eventually satisfied with the work she did, she turned on her heel and began to make her way to Darius as William hurled a volley of curses and insults at her.

* * *

Hanako's two brown eyes peered between two of the many crenellations that lined the walls. For a structure of its size, the Wolfstone Outpost was severely undermanned of what she could see. She counted ten footmen in the courtyard and seven archers along the walls. However, her main target—Darius Shonto—must have been within the keep that sat on the far side of the castle opposite the main gate.

The Shinobi could not risk creating a scene in the courtyard. She had to complete her mission first and foremost. Therefore, she decided to make her way around the perimeter of the outpost. Hanako climbed up onto the wall's walkway silently and swiftly, instantly crouching behind some crates as to hide from the archers on other sections of the wall.

Hanako made her way to the entranceway that led into the keep with grace and speed, always making sure to not bring any attention to herself. When she had eventually made it to the keep's outer shell, the sun had fallen about halfway since the time she first laid eyes on the Wolfstone Outpost, bringing dusk upon the landscapes.

She pushed open the heavy wooden door ever so slightly, peering into the room. It seemed to be the war room. A large wooden table sat in the middle of the area—a large map of Ashfeld and the Myre sitting atop it. A window sat overlooking the mostly empty courtyard. Other armor and tools scattered the room, being thrown into it without any sort of care.

Hanako carefully made her way into the empty war room. She took a chance to look at the map. Small wooden statuettes of a variety of things were scattered across the minimized landscape. Some looked like wolves and horses—which she assumed was the Blackstone Legion—whilst others looked like sheep and birds, which she assumed to be the Samurai. Which clan or leadership of Samurai? She did not know.

A pair of wolves looked to be going up the main roads of the Myre that led to Koto, the Imperial City. Another pair of figurines, horses this time, looked to be going through the southern area of the Samurai's region, presumably a secret assault against Koto as well. From what her two hazel eyes were seeing, it seemed to be a full assault against the Imperial City.

Hanako took a step back from the table and turned to the entranceway that she did not come from when the sound of tapping was heard. The sounds seemed to be footsteps, and they grew closer and closer with every passing second. She swiftly jumped atop the table carefully, making sure not to knock over any of the figurines. From there, she jumped and clung to a beam that ran across the empty space in the room. Climbing atop this supportive beam, she laid on her stomach there, making sure not to make any sounds.

The door creaked open, and two figures walked in. One, a young lad, was dressed in clothes that made him look like a messenger. The sigil of the Blackstone Legion was sewn onto both of his shoulders. The other—an armored man larger than the other—was dressed in thick steel armor signature to that of a Conqueror. The suspicion that he was one of these was confirmed when the Shinobi noticed a flail that was wrapped around his lower arm. Strangely, his shield seemed to be absent from him.

"Tell Apollyon that the plans have been prepared, and all that she needs to do is to give the command." The man, who Hanako had recognized to be Darius Shonto, told the young boy, causing him to promptly nod. Darius turned from the lad to the war table.

Leaning on the counter's wooden surface, the Knight's brown eyes darted around the map, a smirk slowly creeping onto his face as he looked up the plan that he had devised. The Conqueror pushed up from the table and turned back to the boy. His smile instantly went away as he realized that his messenger had not left yet.

"What are you doing here? Go!" Darius shouted at the lad, knocking the boy to the left with the back of his armored right hand. The messenger fell to the ground but quickly rose and ran off, leaving the Conqueror alone with his unseen spectator.

The Knight turned on his heel and walked to the window that overlooked the courtyard. He looked out and muttered an inaudible curse under his breath. He pressed the palm of his hand against the stone pillar that sat beside the glass, putting all of his wait on it.

Hanako slowly and silently pushed herself up from her lying down position, eventually crouching atop the beam that she was on. She swiftly jumped down, making a light tapping noise as her equipment lightly jingled on her belt. Darius turned on his heel to look at the sound that had been made, his eyes locking his Hanako's.

"What the hell?" He muttered, instinctively unwrapping his flail's chains in one rapid motion. "Who the fuck are you?"

Hanako remained silent, but she, too, retrieved her Kusarigama that had been hanging from her lower arm. Her eyes were penetratingly set on the man, and her grip around her weapons tightened. Darius took a step forward towards the Shinobi, clutching his flail intensely. He watched his opponent carefully as he carefully readied himself for a battle that he knew was coming.

The Shinobi patiently waited for her target to make the first move. She knew that if she waited long enough, the Knight would grow impatient and become careless, and it seemed as though it was working, as she could see the man become increasingly irritated in the stand still that was happening. Soon enough, Darius had begun to have enough of the wait.

He pushed himself from the ground and towards the Shinobi, swing his flail wildly. The metallic ball swung at Hanako, but she promptly ducked under the weapon, stabbing the man in his side. Digging the blade of one of her Kusarigama deeper into his flesh, she pulled down and out, tearing away a large portion of his side.

"Damn you!" Darius yelled as he stumbled back, clutching his wounded side with his left hand. "Te affligam!"

He swung his flail once again, and he once again missed. Hanako had dodged underneath his swipe and jumped up, kicking him in the face—which sent him stumbling backwards for a second time, dazed. He shook his head, trying to regain focus. A slew of curses exited the Conqueror's mouth as he began to swing his flail in a circular motion above his head, slowly approaching the Shinobi as he did so.

This attack sent the Shinobi taking steps backwards, making sure not to get hit by the spiked ball. She, too, began spinning her Kusarigama, giving it momentum. She released the blade, flinging it towards the man. It landed directly into the wound that she had created before, dodging his flail that could have blocked it. The man screamed in pain as the sharp blade entered his already bloodied side.

Hanako pulled on the chains that were connected to the blade, sending him stumbling towards her. As he grew closer and closer, she pulled out the weapon and grabbed the wooden handle. She brought both of her Kusarigama slightly elevated to the right, and she quickly swung them downwards in a diagonal motion, slicing the man's face when he stumbled into range.

Darius fell to the ground in pain, dropping his flail as he did so. He began to try to crawl away from Hanako, pleading with her to leave him alive. Tears flowed out from his eyes and his voice broke as he visibly cried. _Shameful._ Hanako thought. _A warrior always dies with honor, and this is no honorable death. _As Darius crawled to a wall, the Shinobi took a few steps toward him.

"Please… please…" The Conqueror begged, pain filling his voice. However, his cries were met with silence. Hanako stood there above him, looking down at his pathetic form. "Don't kill me… please…"

The words fell on deaf ears. The Shinobi retrieved her Ninjatō that was strapped to her back. She brought it above her head and brought it down swiftly, splattering the surrounding area with a crimson liquid. With his cries and pleas ceased, the room fell in silence once again.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed this (half-?)chapter of Nos Sunt Lupi. However, it does bring a question to mind: Would you rather have "long" chapters (4500 to 5000 words) or would you rather have shorter chapters (2500 to 3000)? Let me know, and don't forget to review/follow/favorite if you deem the story worthy.**


	10. Chapter IV, Part III - The Speech

_Chapter IV, Part III – The Speech_

* * *

Hanako stood above the lifeless form of Darius Shonto. With her target dead and her mission complete, she should probably return to the Renjiro clan's campgrounds. She turned on her heel to look at the direction in which the distinctive sound of footsteps was heard. Her duel with Darius Shonto must have alerted some guards to a commotion, which they would check out. Luckily, the Shinobi did not see any major Knights when she surveyed the outpost, so theoretically, she could easily dispatch them.

Three footmen burst into the room, and upon noticing a Samurai holding a Ninjatō that was standing over their former lord, they drew their broadswords. Hanako adjusted her footing to deal with the men, and as she did this, one of them ran at her, his sword raised above his head. She quickly dodged to the right, holding her Ninjatō at a flat angle. The weapon easily pierced her opponent's armor and sliced open his chest, allowing blood to fall from his wound as his soon-to-be corpse dropped face first onto the floor.

Hanako's eyes moved from the lifeless body to the two other soldiers. When she saw them both charge at her, she dropped her Ninjatō and took out her Kusarigama. She leapt towards them, crashing into one. Tumbling down to the dusty wooden floorboards, she swiftly got on top of him and cut his exposed neck, killing him almost instantly. She then returned her attention to the last man—who had overshot his swing, sending him off balance.

The Shinobi jumped from the body of the second man, landing just behind the last. She quickly fell to the ground and kicked the man's feet from under him, sending him falling to the ground. Hanako recovered and threw down one of her Kusarigama into him, promptly piercing his chest without problem. The Knight's eyes widened as life left them.

She pulled the sharp blade from the man's chest and went completely silent. Hanako listened for any signs of more men headed her way. Luckily, she heard nothing, so she turned on her heel and slowly walked through the way she came, picking back up her Ninjatō as she did so.

And when Hanako reached the exterior of the keep, her eyes narrowed on the ridge where she left William, her captive. It would be a lie to say that she did not wonder whether he had escaped or not. Even if he had managed to escape, however, he could not have gotten far, so Hanako could probably find and catch him with ease.

After she lowered herself from the top of the thick stone wall, Hanako made her exit from the Wolfstone Outpost's grounds and into the deep night that fell upon her. The remaining few Knights of the outpost were sent on patrols, but they did not find anything that could lead them to the attacker—much to Hanako's advantage.

Soon after, the Shinobi crested the hill that she had left William. A sigh of relief exited her lungs when her hazel eyes gazed upon the sleeping form of the man. He was fallen to the ground, his feet lying in a pool of blood. His clothes wore many stains of his own blood, and mud dirtied his face and hair. Hanako slowly approached the man.

"Wake up." Hanako told him as she lightly kicked his chest, waking him from his slumber. The man shook, his eyes shooting open as he awoke.

"Damn." William muttered as he pushed himself up from the muddy grounds with a struggle since his hands were still bound in rope. "What now?"

Over the course of their short travels together, William had grown accustomed to the Shinobi. He began to realize that pleading for his life or hoping that she let him escape would not get him anywhere. Hanako would never in a million years allow him to walk free, for he was a Knight and her a Samurai. After all, he would not let her go either.

"It does not concern you." Hanako responded. She pulled from her belt a thick sack. "But you cannot know where we are headed."

Fresh out of retorts, William could only sigh as she placed the heavy hessian bag over his head. He barely struggled, but his mouth remained closed tight. The world seemed to go black for him, but he could still feel as Hanako pushed him forward. With a hand on his shoulder, the Knight was directed by her, and leaves beneath his feet were crunched as he walked slowly onwards, deeper into the Myre.

* * *

"I assume you have completed the mission?" Tetsuo said pointedly, his right eyebrow raising slightly as he looked down upon Hanako from his wooden throne when she entered. She bowed and stood up straight.

"Yes, sir." Hanako replied instantly. "Darius Shonto of the Wolfstone Legion is fallen."

"Good." Tetsuo responded with a smile. "However, I understand that you have brought me a gift from the mission?"

Hanako nodded. Shortly after the slight motion, the two wooden doors burst open, and a person in full plate armor stumbled in the door with a sack placed over his head, being guided by two large Shinobis. She motioned her hand towards the man. One of the two escorts followed up with removing the sack from the man's face.

"This is William Eron of the Blackstone Legion, formerly of the Wolfstone Legion." The woman said. Tetsuo leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. "While I was over at the Wolfstone Outpost, I had found out that the Wolfstone Legion was annexed into the Blackstone Legion, and that they plan on invading the Myre. When that is, I do not know, but I know it will happen."

Tetsuo hummed before leaning back in his chair. "I shall look into this. If anything is found out, you shall be notified."

Hanako nodded before stepping away and out of the small wooden hall and into the dark jungle. She looked to the sky. The night was young, as moon was nowhere near its peak. The moon was as bright as the strongest torch, as beautiful as a sunset, and as round as a gold coin. It hung suspended between two picturesque clouds, and Hanako could barely remove her eyes from the attractive scene.

Regardless, her hazel eyes were peeled away by the call of her name: "Hanako!"

The voice was familiar yet strange. Hanako turned on her heel to look at the person who had called her. She looked upon the figure. It was a man. He was slightly shorter than average, but that would have been expected, especially for an Orochi since being smaller was better. His hair was jet black, being cut short around the sides and back but slightly longer on top.

Hanako's eyes locked with his, and she instantly knew who spoke to her. There—on a narrow face, next to a deep brown eye, and beyond a large ugly scar—his left eye sat, milky grey and blind.

* * *

Rera.

It was a name that many knew. That many feared. It was not fear of terror; instead, it was a fear that stemmed from an unspoken respect for the name. And this name had definitely earned this respect, for they fought in countless battles and numerous wars, winning many of them with their hardened valor. This kind of valor was not earned by sitting behind a desk or telling the soldiers where to go. It was the kind that was earned by leading your men into battle, killing the enemy with your bare hands, and standing until your last breath.

However, those days of Rera had been long gone. They managed to avoid war with other legions or factions. The days of war were behind the House of Rera, and in the future laid the prospect of extreme prosperity through more socially-acceptable means, for they were now the ones that controlled much of Ashfeld's economy. They had an iron fist on imports and exports, industry, and even agriculture somewhat. If you were to look around the most major cities of Ashfeld, you would see properties owned by Rera, and they certainly enjoyed this fact.

Currently, Geraix Rera, the heir and son of Galon Rera, stood in the open auditorium. Hundreds of people—powerful and wealthy—sat and watched, waiting for the son of one of the most powerful men in Ashfeld to begin his speech. Geraix stood behind a red velvet curtain embellished with golden accents. He was calm, which was uncommon for many who had to talk to the most powerful men and women in Ashfeld.

Geraix always had a knack for public speaking. Unlike most of the residents of the three regions, he was well-educated and well-spoken. He was incredibly wealthy and relatively powerful, and he lived a comfortable life, something that was generally unusual for mostly any person anywhere. But unlike those others that lived comfortable lifestyles, Geraix took the opportunity to further himself instead of wasting away with wine and women. He learned a variety of different things using this money: from politics and speaking to sword-fighting and strategy.

A smile crept onto the Centurion's face, and it stayed on as he stepped through the large velvety curtains. The audience cheered, their applause reverberating throughout the echoey chamber. It was not a strange noise for Geraix. He had grown accustomed to the sound, though some could say that he it was so familiar that it was borderline annoying how much praise he got. Geraix held up his palm to the crowd, silencing them.

"My father…" His voice commanded the now silent room, and the audience members' eyes were trained on him; they were hooked on his every word. "He was a powerful but merciful. He loved many, and he was loved by many. He was the most honorable man that any person could ever hope to meet. He left a large hole to fill, but I will do my best to fill it."

Geraix paused as the crowd erupted into a roar. He gave them a few seconds before stopping their praise and continuing: "All of the House of Rera mourns the loss of this great man, but we all knew that it would have come sooner or later. Now, I wish that I was inaugurated into this position under a better, more joyous sun, but the House of Rera does not come to a halt when someone dies, which it shouldn't, as we need to keep moving forward, regardless of the hardships that lay ahead on our path to victory.

"I take this position with great honor, and I hope I can fulfill all of the countless expectations that my father left before me. Thank you." Geraix concluded the speech with an instantly recognizable grin. The smile was met with the all too familiar sound once again. The Centurion bowed slightly before raising his right hand in a motionless wave. After a few moments of receiving the incredible ovation, he turned on his heel and walked back through those velvety curtains.

* * *

(Re)Introducing **Geraix Rera**, created by _onyxwhip_.

**Sorry for the super long delay with getting this one out. It was supposed to come out a week after the previous, but life, technical issues, and general problems arose with this chapter. I wanted to get it out as soon as possible, so sorry for it be extremely short.**

**However, that's enough with the excuses. Hopefully, I will be back soon with a new chapter of average length. Don't worry, I haven't given up on this story, and I hope I won't. Anyway, thanks for reading.**


	11. Secundus - The Jury

_Secundus – The Jury_

* * *

The occurrence happened suddenly. From over the mountains they came with hate in their eyes, bloodlust in their minds, and greed in their hearts. The Vikings attacked the small village and, as had been expected ever since the Iron Legion had sentenced them to it, inflicted a great deal of suffering upon its inhabitants. They took the women and the children to be slaves, but the men were condemned to death, though perhaps living under the barbarians' rule would be a fate worse than that.

Still, not all the villagers had been taken, nor did they all get killed; some of them had managed to escape into the wooded hills that surrounded the area. The frenzy's victims' screams and bloodshed filled the night sky's dreadful atmosphere well into the morrow. When the sun had fully risen from its long slumber, the neighborhood had grown silent.

Bodies were hung from the rooftops, filling the air with a nauseating odor. Stained blood was splattered onto the various buildings' stone and wooden walls. The corpses of cattle and other animals decorated the grassy lawns and fields, causing an influx of vermin and rodents to feast on their rotting flesh. Mountains of burning furniture and clothes were dotted along all the streets, even though there were few. Overall, the scene was unpleasant for all the senses.

However, only one figure looked upon the terrible sight. It was the same figure that had watched as that Lawbringer, Dante, condemned her to this horrific event with those hateful brown eyes; the same woman who had realized that death was cast down upon the villagers. Her thin frame stood on the ridge of a small hill that overlooked the town. She could not help but think of the innocent people whose lives had been unrightfully taken all because their "knight in shining armor" was too selfish to help them.

The Iron Legion dog would die for what he did to her people. But at the sound of a wooden cart and horses, the woman turned on her heel, putting her back to the burning village. There, just a short distance from her, a platoon of Knights marched. There were three Knights on horses and two others on a wooden wagon. Each of them wore the colors green and yellow.

The woman had studied Knights and legions before, learning much from old books and writings that had collected dust in the village's old archives building that had no doubt fallen to the ground in ashes by now. From these burned texts, she had learned that the colors green and yellow were the colors most associated with deserters. Regardless, she was curious as to why a group of presumed deserters were marching through the wild.

When the group of deserter Knights stopped, they seemed to look towards the direction of the great flame that arose from the burning city. Two of the Knights that were atop horses started trotting in the direction towards the woman, leaving one other Knight and the wagon behind. As they came closer and closer, their eyes narrowed on the figure when they noticed her.

"Who are you?" One of the Knights, a man, inquired, his voice raspy and old. His armor was a firm steel, and his helmet covered his whole face, save for a thin slit that allowed him to see out of. He slowed his horse to a halt as he approached the figure.

"I should be asking you." The woman shot back, crossing her arms over her thin body as her brown eyes narrowed at the one speaking.

"We are no one." The other Knight, a woman, spoke up. She pointed to an emblem that rested on her breastplate. "We have gone from war, and we hope to not return; we have no name, no calling. We only have these horses and a will to get away."

"Then I see that we are similar yet different." The woman said, her voice commanding—which was strange for her look. "I run towards war. I must find him that has done this thing to my village, and I must bring him to justice."

"Who is it that you search for?" The male Knight asked.

"A man called Dante of the Iron Legion." She responded quickly, turning her head to look at him. "Do you know of him?"

"Sadly." The man answered, his voice taking a sense of annoyance at the mere mention of the name 'Dante.' "He is known as the coward. I fought beside him for many years, and I was witness to his cowardice. I find it hard that he is the one that had brought a great flame against your town."

"He didn't do so directly." The villager corrected. "But I shall save my tirades for the man himself. Do you know where he resides?"

"I would presume him to be near one of the few Iron Legion strongholds." The Knight said. "Surely you do not expect yourself to get your revenge against him as you are now?"

"Of course not, but this must be done." She retorted as she closed her eyes, imagining all the ways that she might enact her revenge against this Iron Legion dog.

"I like you." The female Knight piped in. "Come, we will teach you the way of the Warden, and then you may get your vengeance."

"Perhaps." The woman opened her eyes and looked over her shoulder towards the village before turning back towards the Knights. "It's not like I have much to return to."

"What is your name?" She asked, raising a brow behind her steel helmet.

"I have a past name, but that name is from days gone by; I no longer respond to it. From now on, I am but a wolf wandering, seeking its prey."

* * *

The campgrounds were small and compact, consisting of only three tents and one meager campfire. Still, it was good enough for what the deserters needed it for. After all, they were only staying there for a few days until they could feasibly leave Ashfeld without the Iron Legion's knowledge.

The woman's eyes narrowed on the campsite as she jumped from the back of the wooden, horse drawn wagon. It sat in a clearing in a forest that rested in the southwest corner of Ashfeld. On the far side of the space, a small pen with a few horses grazing sat, and another wagon was resting just next to that, being filled with many different pieces of equipment, armor, and weaponry.

The man and woman that the stranger had spoken to earlier in the day, who were called Silas and Marion respectively, approached her from behind. The male Knight's eyes narrowed on the camp after he crossed his arms and let out a hefty sigh, and the other Knight walked further into the camp towards one of the larger tents.

"This is just a small camp." Silas mentioned, his voice still gravelly from behind his helmet. However, he took it off shortly thereafter and held it in his right hand. "We head out to the Chiron Stronghold on the morrow."

The woman looked at the camp for a few more seconds before turning her head to look at him. She raised a brown eyebrow as she studied the man's face. It was wrinkled and grey, being composed of age and experience. A bushy grey beard rested on his sharp jaw, and it fell to almost the base of his neck. Brown eyes were narrow and filled with a wisdom unknown to her.

"Chiron Stronghold?" She asked. Of all the strongholds that she had read about in the old archives, she had never heard of the Chiron Stronghold.

"It's an old fortress that belonged to a faction of old that had been wiped from the face of the earth to my knowledge." Silas explained. "It was built into the side of Mount Ignis. Not many men know it's there; after all, who would dare risk their life for a supposed fairytale?"

"Interesting." The stranger responded, turning her head to look back at the small camp from her companion. Silas turned his head to look behind him when he heard soft footsteps on the wet grass.

"Silas, he wants to speak to your friend." Marion, the female Warden that the woman had met just hours ago, spoke as she walked towards them two. She gestured to a tent larger than any of the others.

"I would have thought so." Silas sighed as he turned from Marion back to the stranger. "You should get a move on."

Silas motioned for her to go to the large tent that Marion had gone to just moments before. The stranger raised an eyebrow but complied. As she walked through the central area of the campsite towards the shelter, she could feel eyes fall upon her. She could feel the distrust and paranoia stir within the group. These men and women certainly had trust issues, and perhaps they had this cynicism for good reason.

As the woman entered through the cloth-covered entrance of the large tent, a musty warmth hit her, causing her to shrivel her nose. Inside the thin walls, a lone goatskin bed sat filled with straw and occupied by a single person. This person, a man, donned the armor of a Lawbringer. The armor itself was built of dirtied silver

The Lawbringer moved his gaze from his hands to the woman. Resting off to his side, the man wore no helmet, revealing much of his face. Strangely, it looked young and strong, which was unlike what the woman would have expected whatever that was. The man stood to his full height, rising to almost half a foot above his guest.

"Who are you?" The Lawbringer spoke, his voice, deep and strong, was low and quiet as to not attract unwanted attention. His brown eyes scrutinized the woman that stood before him.

"I am a woman with nothing to return to." She whispered, taking a step further into the tent to look around its interior. "I am a woman that seeks no more than vengeance against those who had wronged me."

"And why do you come to me with this?" He responded as he crossed his arms, causing the metal plates of his arms' armor to scrape against each other.

"One of your men told me of your story—the story of how you run." She said, her eyes resting back on the balding man. "Yet I know that you seek revenge, and it is at that want, that desire, that need, where our paths cross."

The Lawbringer raised an eyebrow and looked down at her, clenching his jaw before finally speaking: "You say that I want, or need, revenge. However, I have yet to tell you of anything about me or my desires. How do you make this conclusion?"

"I can see it in your eyes." The stranger responded, her own brown eyes seemingly piercing the man's. "I have a philosophy. A philosophy that there are only two people in this world: sheep and wolves. And I believe you to be that of the latter."

"I see." The man replied quietly, his mind wondering what she meant by that. "Where have you been taught? From my understanding, you are only a village girl from the unforgiving wilderness."

"I taught myself." She retorted. "One does not need to learn from scholars to understand others and their innerworkings."

"Of course." The Lawbringer said, offering a sarcastic apology. "What is it that you want from me?"

"I told you." The woman held. "It's the same thing that you want—vengeance. I seek an Iron Legion dog called Dante. I was told by one of your men that you know where he is."

"I do." He answered. "He lives in the Chiron Stronghold near Mount Ignis. Still, why do you seek me if you have already gathered this information?"

"I need you to take me there." She said firmly. The response instantly drew a grunt of shock from the Lawbringer.

"What?" He said with surprise. "I'd be hanged if I went anywhere near there. No, it might even be worse than a hanging. I'm not doing this."

"Then train me, and I shall do it myself." She retorted with determination. There was nothing that could stop her from getting her revenge. She would die before she let her chance at it slip away.

"It is not my position to train you." The man responded in a half-sigh. "There is more to being a Lawbringer than just knowing the poleaxe. Hell, there's more to being a Knight of any rank than just knowing a blade. You must have honor and valor, and you have yet to demonstrate those qualities to me."

"Perhaps these outdated ideals are worth more than I once thought." The woman said through her teeth, lying to the man who stood before her. It was true. She did not think that honor or valor were worth anything more than words. Still, if it meant that she would need to "learn" these things to get to her damned enemy, then so be it.

"Talk to Silas." The Lawbringer stated as he motioned his guest to a slightly smaller tent across the grounds. "Perhaps he may speak to you about the sword if it is what you truly want."

The woman bowed slightly and stepped out of the tent, leaving the man alone in the cloth structure. _What am I doing involving myself back in the world of legions? _He thought. _I left that life behind me; yet, it somehow continues to follow. Oh, Dante, what is it that you have done this time?_

* * *

**I meant for this one to get out last week, but it was delayed (obviously). Anyway, better late than never, right?**


	12. Chapter V - The War Room

_Chapter V – The War Room_

* * *

When Avice rested her eyes on the great Blackstone Fortress, it seemed as though the world collapsed around her. Even though this day was meant to be a joyous day—after all, she was going to be meeting with one of the most powerful warlords throughout the regions—the young Warden could not help feel anything but despair as she soaked in that sight.

The fortress was expansive, and it oozed a feeling of dread that would make any who opposed its mighty walls cower in fear. A wide lava moat surrounded the front walls, the scorching liquid emanating from the pinnacle of Mount Ignis. As the gate lowered for Ademar and Avice, a group of twenty Knights exited the entrance in a formation and escorted them throughout the expansive courtyards.

As Avice sat atop her horse that was being guided by a young fellow who was perhaps too young to be here within these walls, she took note of her surroundings. It was what one would expect from a legion: rows of Knights doing drills, drunken soldiers laughing, and the odd brawl between anywhere from two to ten men. Her eyes finally landed on a body hung from a noose. She could tell that the figure was a Samurai from his clothes, which was strange since, to her knowledge, the Knights had a relatively good relationship with the Myre at this moment in time.

As the pair of Blackstone Wardens reached the large wooden door that led deeper into the Blackstone Fortress, they had their horses taken away to the stables that rested on the far side of the courtyard close to the wall. Avice followed Ademar through the dimly lit stone brick hallways, her mind still wondering what felt off about the place.

"That way." Ademar motioned towards a short hallway that split off from the one that they were currently in. It led about ten feet down, and it ended with an arched wooden door. "Go down there and wait, she'll be with you soon."

Avice nodded, turning on her heel to face the door. And by the time that she reached the heavy wooden entranceway, Ademar had already vanished down the hallway, leaving her all by her lonesome. As she entered the room, she looked around it.

The room was composed of blank walls with no windows. There were exactly ten torches that stood atop tall stands, being dotted around the large room in such a way that it lit up almost everything. In the center of the room, there was a long table with seven chairs—one at the head with three on the adjacent side. A three-dimensional map of the three regions was built in the center of the table, giving Avice the impression that this was a war room.

Avice walked around the edge of the table and sat in the corner seat. Just in that moment, the only door swung open, and a hooded figure clad in black cloth and black iron armor with a crown entered. As soon as he entered, his eyes landed on the woman that was sitting. As he stood there in the entranceway, he raised an eyebrow before crossing his arms.

"Who are you?" He questioned, his voice resembling something like a serpent except perhaps even a snake had more tact. Still, it probably was not proper for Avice to judge someone simply by their voice.

"I am Lady Avice Esclair, Warden of the Blackstone Legion." She told the man with a hint of confidence. "I was called here by Apollyon, and I was escorted to this room by Ademar."

"Ah, I was told that there might be someone joining us." He mentioned, his voice notably relaxing. He crossed his arms and let out a hefty sigh. "I am Vortiger."

Avice stood from her seat and smiled his way, offering him an armored hand. His head moved slightly down so that he could peer at her hand. He shifted on his feet, but he still kept his arms locked, refusing to uncross them to shake her hand.

"I've heard of your name—mighty and fierce." Avice complimented, returning her hand back to her side. Vortiger stepped further into the room, walking over to the opposite side of the table to take his seat.

"Many have." He told as he sat down in one of the six vacant chairs. "What is it that Apollyon wants you here for?"

"I do not even know why I am here." She responded, sitting back down in her own seat. "Yet, if Apollyon calls for me, then I shall respond."

"That would be the wise thing to do, yes." Vortiger said, nodding slightly as he did so. "I've lost many good fighters to disobedience. Then again, perhaps they weren't good fighters after all."

"Perhaps not." Suddenly, the door swung open to reveal the forms of Holden Cross and Ademar. The Warden swiftly and silently approached Avice, sitting next to her. Cross took his time, surveying the three figures in front of him. His eyes scrutinized the newcomer's form.

"Sit up." He instructed, motioning towards Avice's lax posture. "We're not beasts here."

Avice immediately did so, sitting up straight. She could feel herself start to heat up with anxiety. Perhaps it was the wrong choice to come here. Besides, she still could not fathom why Apollyon chose her over her superior Devo Forge. Still, she must be here for a reason.

Cross walked around the table to sit at the head of the table's right-hand side. Even after he had taken his seat, the Lawbringer's eyes were glued onto Avice, but she did not dare check to see if that was true. Soon after, the door to the room swung open a last time, and in walked an infamous figure: Apollyon.

* * *

Dahlia looked to the sky, her mind wondering what in the hell she was doing. Right now, she was sitting on a brown horse in the middle of the Myre waiting for the rest of her patrol to show up. Her hands let go of her horse's reins as she flung her head down to look at the animal's head. She patted its neck and sighed.

_What the fuck am I doing here, Adelaide?_ The Peacekeeper whispered to her horse in her mind, even though it was more of a question for herself. She had been part of the Blackstone Legion for a few years now, and she had seen some of the many changes that the legion as a whole and its members had gone through.

And it was over the years that Dahlia had grown her doubts. Still, she kept her head down and went along with the orders that she received. She had a problem with self-confidence, and she even knew it. It was this problem that kept her from speaking up for her beliefs. After all, it was more likely that she was wrong rather than she was right… right?

The young woman's thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of horses in mud. She looked down the muddied road at two horses walking side by side. Atop these horses, her patrol mates sat. One, a Warden, was female with short blonde hair and blue eyes that could pierce even the hardest of exteriors, and a Conqueror, who was no doubt sent here to die for his crimes against the Blackstone Legion.

"Dahlia!" Spoke the Warden, Henriette, from atop her brown horse. "Sorry we're a little late; we ran into a few cunts trying to thieve from the markets near Chīsana Ki."

"You know we're not supposed to dole out justice in the Myre." Dahlia responded, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow as she did so. "That's what the Samurai are for."

"Perhaps, but can you really leave justice to the goddamned Samurai?" She shot back. "You can barely trust them with bread as has been made clear back there."

Dahlia rolled her light brown eyes before resting them on the silent observer, Peter. He was built strong and tall with a million-dollar smile, which he showed off regularly. She would converse with him if he was not a mute. In fact, she even remembered the day he lost it to a Shaman. He could tell many stories about his adventures if he had his voice still, but those days were gone and now were the days for silence.

The Peacekeeper turned her horse away from her patrol mates towards the depths of the Myre. She motioned in the general northeast direction. Keeping her eyes glued on that direction, she spoke up with instruction.

"We have a mission from Janus Tyro." Janus Tyro. He was an old friend… emphasis on the was. They grew up together, and many would consider them inseparable. In fact, they were for the most part. That was until he ran off, following his dream of becoming a Warden, which to his credit, he achieved. Still, after all those years, he seemed to change for the worse.

"What mission?" Henriette asked after Dahlia seemed to wander off. The Peacekeeper blinked a few times before finally coming back to the real world from her memories.

"He wants us to go all the way to Yamashiro." She finally responded. "He needs us to pick something up. What is it? I don't know; however, Janus says that we don't need to know."

Dahlia retrieved a map from the side of her horse. She unrolled it and pointed to a certain point on it. Henriette and Peter both walked their respective horses closer to the map for a better look.

"That's where it is." Dahlia looked up to the sky. It was already midday; they were quickly losing daylight. "We need to head out… now."

Her patrol mates nodded and began to ride their horses down the long path that was ahead. It was odd. Normally, Dahlia would never be the one to take lead on a mission, especially one as, presumably, important as this. However, this time, she felt rather comfortable because she was surrounded by two people she knew deeply and had grown a bond with.

Henriette and Dahlia met when they were at the Stygian Fortress, which was the place that trained the newest and best soldiers for the Blackstone Legion. It was strange because they were so vastly different. Henriette enjoyed going in loud and all the chaos that came because of it; Dahlia, on the other hand, enjoyed the complete opposite, which was the silent and patient approach.

Peter, however, was different. Peter and Dahlia first met when he was getting transferred to Ater Prison from another. Strangely for a prisoner, he was friendly and nonthreatening to her when she met him in chains near her old home, Castle Thorn. They grew close years after when he was forced to join the Blackstone Legion as a Conqueror for his freedom.

Dahlia could not have asked for better patrol mates to do this mission with, and that was partly why she felt more comfortable taking the lead on this one. As she rode down the muddy road in the Myre, she could not help but reminisce upon her life—the good and the bad.

* * *

_**YEARS BEFORE…**_

"I can't do this!" The young woman screamed weakly. She was exhausted and defeated. All willpower had left her body long before she started the twenty-mile trek.

"You have to!" A balding man clad in heavy armor yelled at her from atop a black horse. The pair were on the side of Mount Ignis, although only one was feeling the burning pain of her training. The man crossed his arms and tilted his head at the woman as she could barely hold herself on her feet.

The woman had already traveled nonstop for two days from the Myre. She was on the last leg of the trip. In fact, the top of Mount Ignis was the finish line. If she could persevere for only a few more hours, the pain and suffering of the intense journey would be over. Yet, it seemed as though she could not make it. And when she collapsed onto the muddied ground, it felt as though carrying on would mean death.

"Get up, you coward!" The armored man shouted down at her, spitting on her. "Get up now!"

The man leaned down from his horse and grabbed a small stone. He clutched it tightly before hurling it at her, striking her side with it. The woman let out an audible grunt before she cried out, tears streaming down her filthy face.

"Please…" She could barely make it out, her voice barren and gone almost completely. "Please… make it stop."

"It'll stop, when you reach the tip of that fucking mountain." He responded, jumping from his horse. He crouched down beside her still crying form. His eyes narrowed at her. Contrary to what many would think at the sight, he was not actually angry or filled with hatred; instead, he was filled with the need for her to reach the top, for if she could indeed do it, she would finally be broken. And when the woman would finally be broken, she could be fixed.

The woman weakly pushed herself up from the muddied path and crawled up the mountain on all fours with the man walked just beside her, screaming expletives at her almost the entire way. As she pulled herself over a small ridge, her teary eyes narrowed onto her goal: a tent with a soft bed, a fire with a warm glow, and a table almost overflowing with food and wine. The woman could just about feel energy return to her exhausted body as she laid her eyes on these things.

The trainee stood to her feet and feebly walked over, dragging her feet. When she reached the table, a smile appeared not only on her face but also the face of the man who walked beside her.

"You've made it." He said, smiling a rotten smile. His voice much lower and softer than before, he motioned to the bed and food. "Eat and sleep till your heart's content. You deserve it."

The woman was out of breath enough that all she could give was a broken smile. She reached for a piece of bread—the first of many other food items that she would eat that night. The man stood there, watching her eat for a few moments before calling his horse.

"When you are finished here, return to the Stygian Fortress." He commanded as he pulled himself onto his horse. After shifting in his saddle, he turned the animal—and by extension, himself—to face her. "Enjoy yourself; you've done well."

Once again, all she could do was smile at him, receiving one last smile in return. The moon rose in the distance as night began to settle on the landscapes, and after the woman had her fill of mead, venison, and bread, she staggered to the small tent, falling into the bed's warm embrace, not even bothering to remove what little armor she had on.

* * *

Apollyon's eyes scrutinized each figure that was sitting at the map table in the small war room. She knew each of them, save for one, very deeply. She'd trust her life with them, but perhaps that was the problem. She this trust might bite her in the ass later on, but as it was now, she needed them.

"Most of you are here because I trust you fully." The warlord's eyes landed on a Warden—Avice. "Others because I need to trust you fully."

"What is it that you have called us here for, master?" Spoke up Vortiger, his voice slightly less serpent-like when addressing his superior.

"The Imperial family has started to become quite the nuisance for me." Apollyon mentioned as she walked around the table to her seat, even though she stood in front of it, not sitting. "They believe that they have freedom."

She leaned on the table as she spoke, her leather-covered palms being pressed against the cool surface. Her eyes narrowed on the Imperial City of Koto that rested towards the far Eastern corner of the war map.

"We can't stand for that." She whispered to herself as she thought about what she should do next. The room fell silent for just under a minute before Apollyon continued, breaking the silence. "Cross…"

The Lawbringer sat up even straighter than before if that was possible. He moved his head slightly to look at his master, but he kept his body still.

"You and Ademar will lead an assault from behind with a battalion. Take this one; show her how to lead." Apollyon motioned towards Avice, but she did not bother looking at her subordinate. "Me and Vortiger will lead a frontal assault against the city. Hopefully, that will distract them for long enough while you crush their precious royal family."

"Last time, this did not work, and we had to execute the one who fucked it all up." Vortiger mentioned dryly with a hint of sarcasm.

"You executed him did you not?" Apollyon asked redundantly, looking up to face him with her ghastly helmet. The Black Prior went silent, prompting the warlord to continue. "We shall go over the finer details in due time, but for now, I need to tend to some business."

She looked squarely at Holden before continuing: "Prepare a force before a week passes."

He nodded in response, standing and motioning for Ademar to follow before they had left the room. Vortiger watched them leave, rolling his eyes before resting them back on Avice, who shifted uncomfortably in the wooden seat.

"You're dismissed." Apollyon finally allowed them to leave as she sat back into her stone, throne-like chair. Avice immediately stood and exited the room. As she stood out there in the hall, she felt like she could finally allow herself to breath. In that room, it felt as though the walls were closing around her; it was safe to say that she was not very accustomed to being with some of the most powerful people across the regions.

The Warden turned on her heel, stumbling back as she did so, for she was greeted by the tall, armored figure of Holden Cross. His brown eyes looked down at her with a hint of annoyance.

"Don't fuck this up for me, Warden." He spat. "Last time I trusted one of you, he stabbed me in the back, and I was forced to behead the bastard."

"I-I promise I won't!" Avice stuttered out, weakly assuring the man. Her heart was beating quickly, and she could feel sweat begin to form at the tip of her forehead.

"You better not." He whispered. He clenched his hands and turned on his heel before walking down the hall away from her, leaving Avice alone and afraid in the dimly lit halls of the Blackstone Fortress.

This was nothing like how she imagined the superiors of the Blackstone Legion. They acted hateful and dishonest, but she tried to brush it off. Hopefully, this was the product of running one of the largest, most powerful legions in Ashfeld. Hopefully, she did not choose the wrong one. Hopefully…

* * *

**Happy Turkey Day if you celebrate it.**


	13. Chapter VI - The Fat Emperor

_Chapter VI – The Fat Emperor_

* * *

The road ahead was long and winding, and it would cause the three of them much trouble. At least, that is what their superior, Janus Tyro, told them. Dahlia's pressed her eyes shut as the group of them rode their horses down the muddied, unused path. Collect a package. That is all that they were here for… how could it go wrong?

* * *

_**A FEW DAYS BEFORE…**_

A dark eye gazed over the ornate walls of the Yamashiro Palace as another one in a grey color followed blindly and lazily. A heavy sigh exited a slightly opened mouth as the Sun began to fall behind the mountains on the horizon, which could be visibly seen from one of the largest stained-glass windows anyone could have ever seen. The black-haired Samurai took a step forward closer to the walls, his good eye examining a tapestry that hung from a wall.

"Sir, the master will see you now." A young voice broke the man from his thoughts. The black-haired man turned on his heel to look squarely at the younger peasant boy, who consequentially pointed to a pair of large red doors with golden engravings on them. The Samurai nodded towards the young lad before walking over to the entranceway, slowly pushing against the cold surface.

The heavy doors creaked open to reveal an expansive throne room. A large golden throne rested against the far wall; a red velvet carpet laid out so the Emperor would not have to walk on the cold tile floors. A row of Samurai stood at attention on either side of the carpet, their postures perfectly straight and uniform. In the throne itself, the infamous fat Emperor sat.

The black-haired stranger walked cautiously down towards the obese man, his good eye watching the guards keenly as his bad eye stared blankly forward.

"Ah, you must be that Eichii." The Emperor spoke, his voice deep and raspy, sounding as though he was at death's door with every breath.

"The one and only." Eichii said with a grin, running a hand through his jet-black hair. He turned his full attention to the Emperor, his good eye narrowing on him.

"Do you know why I summoned you here?" The fat man asked, his brown eyes staring down at him, empty of any readable emotion. The Samurai raised an eyebrow, signifying to the Emperor that he should tell him why. "Well, boy, it is because of your record. You are well-known throughout the regions for your ferocity in battle."

"I need this ferocity once again." The Emperor continued after a short two second silence, which was just enough time for Eichii to remember his shameful past. "You see, I have many adversaries, and one of them desires to uproot my dynasty. As such, they will go to any lengths to make sure that the holy bloodline—my bloodline—stops at me. They murdered my wife whilst she was away meeting other lords across the region, and I refuse to let this act go unpunished.

"And why do you need me?" Eichii asked, crossing his arms as he dissected the intentions of the man before him.

"I need you to go to the region North Fenlode. There, I need you to bring a woman named Hatsui to death. She must pay for what she did to me." The Emperor said with anger growing in his eyes. He sat up in his golden throne. "Of course, there will be a mighty reward, but for now, you must go, for I need you to do this now."

The Emperor gestured to the door and leaned back into his throne, motioning for one of his servants that stood by idly to bring him a tray filled with the most delicious looking food anyone would have ever seen. Eichii bowed slightly before turning on his heel to walk away.

* * *

"Nervous?" Ademar asked as he walked up behind Avice. His brown eyes scrutinized her as she stood there beneath a tall oak tree looking over a small cliff. She jumped before turning to look at the visitor, instinctively reaching for her sheathed long sword as she did so.

"What do you mean?" Avice asked as she relaxed her posture, moving her hand away from her weapon.

"You do realize that everyone in that room could read your eyes, right?" He mentioned, looking passed her towards the cliff's edge. It plummeted down for about eight or nine feet before hitting a small pool of water. "I'd bet that everyone could see the unease behind them."

"Perhaps." Avice said quietly. She could feel herself warm up with embarrassment. She crossed her arms and leaned against the tree. "Is that all you've come here to do? Remind me of my anxiety?"

Ademar snorted, returning his eyes back to the woman before him. "I've come to tell you to be less stressed. You've got nothing to be worried about; the mission will go smoothly and without problem. That is, if you do what you're supposed to, which you will… right?"

It half sounded life a threat, but perhaps he was trying to encourage her albeit terribly. Avice's eyes locked with his. She paused a moment to think about it before answering. "You know I will."

"Good." Ademar flashed her a smile before turning on his heel to walk away from her back towards the small camp that housed about two battalions' worth of Knights, including Holden Cross. Avice watched him leave before looking back over the cliff. She let out a long sigh.

Hopefully, she could prove herself as a worthy Warden to Apollyon. Then again, it was still a mystery to Avice as to why she was even here in the first place. Avice had never met Apollyon before, so why did she request such a lowly Warden from somewhere not even the most intelligent cartographers would have heard of.

Avice thought back on her life. All of it seemed to be leading her to this moment. The moment where she would be able to become one of the strongest people in all of Ashfeld. She finally had the chance to be Apollyon's right hand, and she was damned if she let it slip through her fingers.

The Warden pushed herself from the tree and turned to walk back to the camp. In the morning of tomorrow, she will be walking through the thick jungles of the Myre towards the Imperial City.

* * *

"What the hell are you doing here?" Hanako's voice was sharp and filled with annoyance, though it commonly was. The Shinobi crossed her arms as her eyes narrowed at the man who stood before her.

"Looking for you, dear friend." The Orochi responded, flashing her a smile of yellowing teeth as he did so. The recipient only rolled her eyes at the gesture.

"I would hardly call you that." She said, turning back around to head towards a small tent that rested a little further from the others. Eichii snorted, following Hanako at her slow pace.

"You're not still angry, are you?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. "Damn, you can hold a grudge."

Hanako immediately stopped, turned on her heel, and stared at Eichii in the eye with irritation. "What was that?"

The man raised his hands defensively before shrugging. He shook his head, prompting Hanako to turn back to her original direction. They walked together in silence for a few more minutes until the Shinobi had reached the tent. As they entered it, Eichii broke the silence.

"Anyway…" He said following her into the small structure. "I need to find someone by the name of Hatsui. I was told that she was in North Fenlode—know how I can get started on my search?"

"I don't know; I haven't seen her for years." She responded as she looked at Eichii. Hatsui and Hanako were old partners until a conflict in interests arose when it came to riches versus morals. "Why are you looking for her anyway?"

"It was a job." Eichii replied a little hesitantly.

"Strange. I never took you for a mercenary." Hanako assumed. It was true that Eichii was not one for paid jobs. Ever since an encounter with a merciful general, he took it upon himself to unite the Myre. However, he could not live without money; thus, he took the occasional job.

"I'm not." He reinforced. He crossed his arms. "What about you? I never thought you were much of someone who lived as a clan member."

"I suppose you thought wrong then." She stated.

"You know, I could always use your help." He mentioned. "You've got a lot of vengeance to be taken on Hatsui after what she did to you at the Canopy."

Hanako's eyes dilated as she remembered that day at the Canopy. Her and Hatsui had finished an operation and were on their way to their client with the requested prisoner. Forever filled with greed, Hatsui attacked Hanako so that she could collect the full payment without having to share. They dueled for a few hours, but through dirty tactics, the Nobushi eventually gained the edge, pushing Hanako into the deep water below the Canopy before running off to collect her prize.

There was hardly a day after that where Hanako did not think of that day, nor was there a day where she did not plot out her revenge. Perhaps this day was the day she took it.

"There is." Hanako whispered beneath her breath. She bit her lip as she thought of whether or not it was a good idea to try to get her well-deserved vengeance. After a few minutes of thinking, she finally replied to the offer. "Fine, I'll do it."

Eichii grinned. "I knew you would. Let's head out tomorrow; in the meantime, you should get some rest."

Hanako nodded slightly with eyes filled with anger for Hatsui. The Orochi turned and left, leaving her by her lonesome. _Revenge._ She thought. _It'll come soon enough for me, and when I finally am able to put my hands around her neck, I will be able to taste its sweetness…_

* * *

**So… just over two months without an update. I suppose this is the part where I insert excuses, but I'll skip it and just apologize for like the twentieth time. Then again, most of you reading this should be accustomed to these long gaps between updates.**

**Regardless, I hope you enjoyed the short update, and don't forget to review, follow, favorite, and the rest if you want. I'll see you in (hopefully) less than two months for the next chapter.**


	14. Chapter VII - The Cold

_Chapter VII – The Cold_

* * *

A pristine snow covered the grass and stone that made up the mountaintops. The trees were barren year-round, for they were forever stuck in an endless winter. To many, this cold would be enough to deter them from entering even the most outer regions of Valkenheim. For Stolt Sverð, however, the snow, the empty trees, and all that was encompassed by this winter was his home. He had lived here in these mountains for all his life, and he did not plan on leaving it behind for warmer pastures.

Stolt stood there in the cold with his arms crossed. He was thinking. He occasionally did this: standing in the cold just thinking. He only did it in either the case of bad news or if he was having an argument with his wife. Even though the latter was rare, it happened. However, in this case, it was more of the former.

He had just returned from a long hunting trip when he was confronted by a young man who wore the mark of Ólafur Björn, the reigning Jarl over the area. The young lad had come with a message from the Jarl—a message that called upon a past treaty between Stolt and Ólafur.

"Jarl Björn calls for you in Vonsgård." The boy had said to the Highlander. Stolt had just let out a long sigh, his breath visible in the extremely colt temperatures. Ólafur and Stolt had known each other for a long time, though they would hesitate to call each other "friends." Due to a past event that the Highlander had blocked out of his mind, there was an understood debt that he had to pay. Stolt pressed his eyes shut and remembered the painful memories.

He opened them moments later, but they were now absent of any positive emotion. Instead, they were filled with determination for his people and his family. In a quiet but strong voice that seemed to echo off his surroundings, Stolt opened his mouth and spoke three fateful words:

"I will come."

* * *

Stolt stood in complete silence when he clutched his claymore tightly, his eyes surveying the snowy landscapes before him. The Highlander stood there on a ledge that overlooked the Valley of Hel—an expansive chasm that went down so far that a thick darkness prevented any from seeing its base. It was an old myth that the great Jarls of the past would throw the bodies of their enemies into the crevice as a way to force their souls to go to the underworld.

The Highlander breathed in heavily, feeling the crispy air in his nostrils. His eyes gazed down to the seemingly endless pit that was the Valley of Hel. He often wondered if the stories he had heard as a child were true—all those about the gods. He would often wonder if there was a Hel, or if there was a Valhalla for that matter. He had given up his beliefs in these gods a long time ago, but he could not help but wonder if he was wrong to.

Stolt's thoughts were broken as the sounds of leaves and twigs breaking beneath heavy boots could be heard behind him. The man did not turn; instead, he let out another heavy sigh.

"Stolt, my friend." Ólafur's deep voice grabbed the attention of Stolt, even though he already held it somewhat. A smile crept on the corners of Stolt's mouth. Somehow, Ólafur could feel it.

"It's been long, but perhaps not long enough." The Highlander mentioned as his companion walked up to stand next to him.

"With that attitude, I'd agree." Ólafur scoffed. He crossed his arms and sighed, letting the two stand there in silence for a few moments.

"Why'd you leave the stone walls of Vonsgard for the wilds of the White Hills?" Stolt asked. The White Hills was home to Stolt. In fact, it was rare for him to go out of its boundaries. Still, when Ólafur's brown eyes locked with his own bright green, he could not help but feel his heart beat slower and the world around him go silent.

"I've not come to chat with an old friend." Ólafur's eyes were firm and cold, conveying little emotion other than the perceived anger that one could see in them, but that was mostly just a defense mechanism that the Raider frequently employed.

"I was afraid of that." The Highlander blinked hard, remembering back to that debt. He could have probably denied the request from Ólafur to come here to the Valley of Hel, but there would be no honor in that. And if it was one thing that Stolt refused to live without, it was honor.

"I did not want it to come down to this, but I must ask you for a favor." The Jarl said, his voice coated in a thin layer of brokenness. "I love you as a brother… but I cannot do this alone."

"Do not say such things lest the gods hear your vulnerability." Stolt demanded, listening to the almost tearful confession from one of the more powerful men in Valkenheim. It was a strange thing for a man to cry. It was demanded of all Vikings that they hold steadfast and leave the crying for the women and children. But when the great Jarl Björn stood there next to a friend with salty tears, Stolt could not help but feel bad for the man.

"No, no., I must confess these things." Ólafur responded, all but wiping the tears from his eyes. He cleared his throat and stood up straight. "My girl… she has been struck with a great illness, and I fear for her life."

"Enough to bring any man to his knees in front of the great goddess of Hel." Stolt mentioned, glancing towards the deep valley as he did so.

"Indeed." The Raider replied, finally wiping the salty liquids from his face. "But I fear that it is deeper than a simple illness. I fear that a man has involved himself in my family, and I fear that he plans to destroy it."

The Highlander raised an eyebrow in response. It was not uncommon for enemies to attack rulers through wicked means, but it was downright evil in Stolt's eyes to attack a young girl. A girl not even strong enough to raise a sword.

"I ask of you to find this man and bring him to his knees." Ólafur said, his voice growing more and more enraged as he spoke more. "But do not kill him. I want him here before me. I want to do the act myself."

Stolt stood in silence for a moment. He thought back to his family, his mind straying to his little children. He could not imagine the horrific things he would do to someone who would harm them. As a bear kills prey for her cubs, he would kill the damned bastard who would try to do wicked things to his own children, or maybe he would give them a fate worse than death. And if he would do these things, who is he to say that another man would not do the same for his own children?

"A debt must be paid." The Highlander finally spoke up after a few moments of thinking. He looked at Ólafur in the eyes once again. Seeing the pain in the Raider's eyes, Stolt's face could have turned to stone and it would still have more happiness than him. "But this is not the time to pay it. I will do this thing for you, and I will do it out of my own anger and empathy for you, my friend. I shall find this heinous man, and I will bring him before you so that you may enact your own vengeance against him."

Ólafur's eyes seemingly searched Stolt's for any sign of deception. Finding none, the tears immediately began to dry up. He gave a silent nod and turned to look at the Valley of Hel. He would hope that he could personally throw the bastard into the echoey chamber of unending misery.

The friends stood there for a long moment in the cold in complete silence, not a single word or sound being uttered from either one of them. Vengeance was on the horizon, and they could both feel it.

* * *

**So… that one was pretty short, huh? I didn't want to add any unnecessary things to the chapter, and I felt as though that was a perfect place to conclude. Also, I felt pretty bad about the two-month gap between the last two chapters. Hey! You should just be happy that you got two chapters in one month!**

**Anyway, I forgot to mention it in last chapter's A/N, but our friendly Eichii was created by MakeMeOrBreakMe. In this chapter, we see the introduction of Stolt, a Highlander created by GuyWhoReads3003.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Don't forget to review, follow, favorite, all that shizz if you'd want. **


End file.
